One More Chance
by Mingsmommy
Summary: An ordinary event turns into a deadly situation. GSR
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, but I have some of the DVDs.

A/N: Thanks to Nightblight, who took time out of her incredibly busy life to Beta this for me. She is the best!

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The metal rail mounted to the base of the checkout counter was digging into her lower back, but sitting pressed against it was better than the three hours she had spent standing. She looked around trying to spot a flat space to move to, but the only place possible was in the inset of the opposite register, where Brass was already sitting.

Sara eyed him appraisingly…his eyes were closed. He was pale and looked exhausted, but other than that he seemed no worse for the wear. She wondered if his arms were aching as much as hers were; probably more she figured, due to the damage to his muscles and the pull against his healing wounds.

She kept glancing back to his chest, checking for any signs of seepage from the bandages she knew were hidden under the navy golf shirt he wore. He had only been out of the hospital a few days and this was his first trip out of the house. He had sworn he was going stir crazy and she was going to the store anyway; she calculated she wouldn't be gone longer than an hour doorstep to doorstep, so she saw no reason why he couldn't come along. His doctor and physical therapist had said he would need to slowly build his strength back; she had reasoned a short trip to the store couldn't hurt.

Three hours, 25 minutes and one dead body later she was afraid this particular trip to the store could hurt a lot. She just hoped Brass wasn't the next one that got hurt.

She stretched out one long leg and tapped his foot with her own. "Hey."

His eyes opened, slowly. "Hey."

"How are you doing?" She half smiled at him, though at this point, there wasn't a whole lot to smile about.

He stretched as best he could from his seated position with hands behind his back. "Uhh…I'm stiff and I'm tired, but I'm OK. How are you doing?"

She shrugged, "About the same." There was a silence between them. Not uncomfortable, just a moment of quiet because there really was no rush to say anything, no matter how much there was to say. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, ask me anything, I'm an open book at this point."

Sara tilted her head and posed her question. "What is it with you and hostage situations lately?"

The detective snorted. "It's my new hobby. Bowling just wasn't doing it for me anymore." Then he gave her a real smile and she gave him her Sara smile in return and just for an instant nothing was wrong.

In the distance, from the outside, she heard the faint crackle and hiss of radio traffic and the accompanying noise of at least half of the Clark County sheriff's department in the parking lot. She had caught a few glimpses of the patrol cars, county SUVs and ambulances through the large plate glass windows of the small natural food store. She wondered absently if the team was out there;

They probably were.

Well, everybody but Grissom... He had sent her a text message shortly before she and Brass had ventured to the store. _419 in desert w/bugs! out of cell range 5-6 hours Brass better? Miss you. Home soon?_

Normally, Grissom didn't care to text message, but since Brass had been released from the hospital and she had been staying with him, there had been too few opportunities for private phone calls and he'd suddenly become an avid text messenger. His e-mails were much more detailed but smaller in number. Each of his messages had stated that he missed her and the most recent ones had asked when she was coming home.

They had talked about it while Brass was still in the hospital. She knew it would be hard on both of them to be separated; they had spent very little time apart since finally finding their way to each other. But they had each other now, and Brass really had no one to care for him.

"_I've been thinking," her head was resting on his shoulder, their breathing and heart rates finally beginning to even out, after an intense round of lovemaking. He was holding her against his chest, pressing small, sleepy kisses onto the top of her head._

"_Mmm…" another small kiss._

"_Brass said Ellie hasn't been to see him. Has anybody seen her?" She thought she knew the answer but wanted it confirmed._

"_No. I think she's gone back to LA," another small kiss, as he inhaled the scent of her hair… peaches and mangoes and something uniquely Sara._

"_He's going to need somebody to take care of him when he comes home," she had tried to keep her tone neutral, but a hint of hopeful inquiry crept in anyway. _

_There was a Grissom-thinking pause, then, "He could stay with us."_

_She pulled back, just a little, to fully meet his gaze and she shook her head. "No, Babe. You know Ecklie has been unbelievably decent about us and all he's asked for in return is for us to keep it under wraps until you and he can work it out with McKeen and the sheriff."_

_Grissom shrugged, "It's just Brass. He wouldn't let on to anybody else."_

_Again, she shook her head. "But it wouldn't be just Brass. Half the department, probably including the sheriff, would come to visit."_

_He grimaced. "I hadn't thought of that."_

_She settled back to his shoulder, "So, I was thinking..."_

"_You're always doing that; it worries me a little," he interrupted in a mock consternation._

"_Funny." She gave a quick kiss to his chest where her head rested. "I was thinking I should stay with him for a few days."_

"_Sara…" his tone was not happy. "I don't think that's such a good idea right now. It'll be too much. You've been working so hard and you're tired all the time and looking after Brass would just be more…"_

"_No, really, listen…I'll take a week's vacation. He won't be demanding. He just needs someone to look out for him until he gets his strength back. He'll sleep a lot and that'll give me an opportunity to rest, too." She knew he wouldn't tell her not to, but she wouldn't do it if he objected too much, either. This was what their love was like. There was no struggle for the upper hand, no arguments about who was right and who was wrong. They just quietly worked things out. It had surprised them both, that after all of the years of tension, doubt, want and pain, how easy it was for them to be together. _

_There was silence and she could almost hear him struggling with his over-protectiveness. His voice was plaintive as he questioned, "A whole week?"_

_She smiled against his skin, "I'll take a week's vacation, but he'll probably only need help for two or three days. Four days, max. The rest of the time I can be home. Maybe you could arrange your days off to fall towards the end of my week's vacation," she suggested, hoping that would help make her time away more acceptable to him._

_He rolled to his side to look at her. "But, I'll miss you." One hand came up to caress her soft cheek._

"_I'll miss you, too, Babe. But I really need to do this for Brass. We do…" She corrected herself; after all they would both be sacrificing for their friend._

_Only Grissom knew that for the past 2 and a half years, once a week, Sara and Brass gone to breakfast and taken in a movie. The ritual had begun in the aftermath of Sara's near DUI and had continued simply because they liked it. They had never discussed it, but both knew that on some level he was like the father she wished her own father had been before he bled out in front of her eyes. It had also remained unsaid between them, how sometimes she was the daughter that he hadn't failed by affairs and countless absences. But mostly they were just friends, quiet, solid and healing. _

_Grissom had not understood the quiet strength of their bond until the first tentative days of his and Sara's relationship. It had been a clearing the air period when they had talked about everything; all of her hurts and all of his fears, and one night when they had been embroiled in a deep conversation about their age difference, he had blurted, "How do I know I'm not just a father figure to you?"_

_Sara had laughed as she explained, "Brass is my father figure. You're my hot genius sexy entomologist figure." _

_Grissom had grinned in response and there'd been no talking for quite a while afterwards._

_He knew she was right. Brass would need some help and it would do Sara good to help him. "You promise to rest, too? And not overdo? You won't completely reorganize all of his cabinets and arrange his spices according to acidity and alphabetize his cds and organize his books according to the Dewey decimal system?"_

_She made a crossing motion over her heart and held up two fingers in mock pledge. _

"_And you'll come home to me as soon as he can fend for himself?" he asked, seeming to need some sort of assurance._

"_I promise," she said softly and sealed it with a sweet, lingering kiss against his lips._

God, she hoped Grissom stayed in the desert playing with his bugs, blissfully unaware of the drama going on in the small health food store just a few miles from their home. He'd worry himself into a frenzy if he knew.

Sara looked at the man opposite her and said, hesitantly, "I'm sorry, Brass."

He didn't pretend not to know what she was referring to, "Not your fault, Doll. The guy's a grade A nut job. This is his fault, not yours."

She nodded slightly, although uncertainty was written all over her face. "I shouldn't have let you come with me. I should have left your whiny butt at home, resting." She tapped her shoe against his again to lighten her words.

"Yeah, well, if you'd come without me, he'd probably have you bound and gagged and three hours out of Vegas and nobody would believe me that you were gone." He grinned at her. "They'd just think you were tired of taking care of my sorry ass and had gone back to your own place. I'm glad I tagged along," and in spite of everything, he gave her an outrageous wink.

Sara swallowed around a sudden, large lump in her throat. "You know, I wish you weren't caught up in the middle of this, but I've got to admit, as selfish as it is, I'm glad I'm not alone."

He considered for a minute. "Did you know he was following you?"

Sara shook her head, "No, I thought I saw him one day when I came to see you at the hospital, but I wasn't sure… " She looked perplexed. "It's been almost three years and I only saw him from the observation room." She hesitated for a minute, "Do you think he has a plan?"

Brass shook his head. "I think whatever plan he had went all to hell the second the manager put that shot gun in his face."

She thanked whatever fates were in charge of this particular nightmare that the store was small, with few employees and there had been so few customers late in the evening on a week night. They had been wandering the aisles while Brass mock whined to her about making him eat rabbit food, tofu and refined cardboard. She had been laughing at some particularly snarky comment he was making when they had turned the corner to come face to face with a tall distinguished man in his early fifties with a gun in his hand.

"_I don't want to hurt anyone," his gun had been solidly trained on them. "Don't move!" he had shouted when Brass had tried to push Sara behind him. His voice was completely calm but his eyes were wide and wild; Brass and Sara froze. Of course neither of them had their weapons. "Sara, I want you to step away from Detective Brass." Sara had looked at Brass, wide eyed, trying to figure the least dangerous move to make. When she didn't move, he spoke more firmly, "Sara, please step away from him or I will be forced to hurt him." She immediately took two steps away from Brass's side. He motioned to Brass with the gun, "Raise your hands, Detective Brass." _

_Brass did so and sucked in a breath. "Hey, now, Buddy," he began in his good cop, everyman voice. "You're Dr. Lurie, right? Vincent Lurie, we met a few years ago…"_

"_Be quiet, Detective Brass. I know you and you know me. I doubt either of us has forgotten any details of our brief association. I repeat, I do not want to hurt anyone, but I will if you get in my way. Just be quiet, and don't move." He kept the gun trained on Brass but glanced at the slender brunette in front of him. "Sara, please come to stand beside me."_

_The young CSI was at a loss for what to do. Every instinct she had screamed at her not to put herself in a position where she had to go with him. That was the number one rule all women were taught in self defense. Don't let your attacker take you anywhere. She felt driven to resist, but Lurie's grip on the gun pointed at Brass was unwavering, and she refused to be responsible for anyone, least of all Brass, being hurt. _

_She had no choice._

_She'd taken one hesitant step toward him when Brass uttered "Sara…" an urgent warning in his voice. _

_A middle-aged woman in search of vegan refried beans had rounded the corner into the aisle behind them, just as the store manager charged up behind Lurie holding a shotgun. The woman let out a high pitched scream and the manager shouted, "You… put the gun down! The police are on their way." _

_Everything from that moment on appeared to happen in slow motion. _

_Lurie turned toward the man with the shotgun and the woman screamed again. _

_Brass dove at Sara, taking them both down, his body completely covering hers. _

_She found herself oddly worrying about the bandages on his chest and hoping he hadn't opened any wounds, as gunfire erupted around them._

_In retrospect, it was hard to say who was the first to fire, but who was the better shot was easily apparent._

_The woman who'd been searching for refried beans lay on the tiled floor where she'd dropped, still screaming. Sara thought she would be screaming too if she had just been the recipient of a gunshot to the thigh. At the opposite end of the aisle, the store manager lay silent where his body had landed, minus his brain matter, which was heavily spattered over cans of organic creamed corn and bags of dry garbanzo beans._

_The wails of both sirens and patrons echoed through the store._

The subsequent three hours had been oddly calm. Lurie had gathered the three remaining employees and two other customers into a huddled, hysterical mass. Sara had provided First Aid to the woman under the direction of the doctor, And after an hour and a half of talking to the negotiators, and with assurances of Brass and Sara's cooperation, Lurie had let the remainder of the hostages go, the two teenage cashiers helping the injured woman to one of the waiting ambulances.

Lurie had found some rope in the store's stock room and tied both of their hands behind their backs. At the moment, he was on his cell phone screaming at the hostage negotiators about a car and not being followed.

Brass and Sara both knew this could only end badly. The only question at this point was how badly and for whom.

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Conrad Ecklie knew he was not held in high esteem by most members of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. When he considered some of his actions in years previous, he couldn't say he blamed them. He knew he had been an ass a lot of times. Sometimes he had been aware of it, but had rationalized _it was for the good of the lab_. And then, when even his delusions couldn't rationalize his asinine behavior, he had blamed others.

He had seen it more times than he could count during his extensive career - the stunned and grieving family members exiting the morgue, begging the cold air and the sterile steel for a second chance, just one more chance. He'd remembered those families; the mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, daughters and sons when in the aftermath of a suicide attempt by his fifteen year old daughter, he'd found himself going through family therapy, and alternately individual therapy. He had been given a second chance, a new perspective; and he was grateful for it. That gratitude was renewed every time he watched the expansion and compression of his daughter's torso as she drew and expelled her breaths. He remembered how close he had come to losing her, losing her to her own hand, from emotional poisons he had helped to plant, products of petty professional jealousies and an over inflated ego.

For years, his mantra for years had been, "For the good of the lab." When he really meant, "For the good of my ego." He finally accepted it. He was a decent scientist, but he was a better administrator. He would never be the genius that was the great Gil Grissom. No, but he could stop fighting the facts and accept them. And in accepting them, it really could be about what was good for the lab. He could be a better boss. He could be a better man. And in doing those things, maybe he could be a better father.

When Stokes had been kidnapped and the race to save him had been won, he thought of Judge and Mrs. Stokes, waiting, crying, supporting each other as they held on helplessly, not knowing if their child would live or die. That night he had shown up on the doorstep of his ex-wife's home at 4:00 am and asked her for another chance; a chance to be a better husband.

He had been "dating" his ex-wife for five months when Grissom and Sidle had asked for an appointment. The two of them had sat in front of his desk and confessed. They were nervous but still slightly defiant. They had been seeing each other and had plans to move in together. His first instinct had been to thoroughly blast both of them, but as he had started to wind up for a rant his eyes fell on the newest picture on his desk; his daughter standing in front of her parents, him with his arms wrapped comfortably around his ex-wife, a woman he hoped desperately would forgive him enough to drop the ex from the equation. All three of them were laughing and happy.

Second chances.

He had taken a deep breath, spoken with them about discretion and gathered the appropriate paperwork for them to fill out for their personnel files. To prevent any possible accusations of sexual harassment, he informed them that either Willows or he would handle Sidle's evaluations in future and wished them well.

They had both been stunned and grateful. Their surprise had amused him; their gratitude had gratified him and given him hope. Maybe he was making progress, maybe he was a better man than he had been.

From then on, things had been smoother. Grissom had been more accommodating and Sidle had been pleasant and while they would never be the best of friends, they had fallen into an easygoing working relationship. So, two weeks ago, when Grissom had made another appointment he had not really been surprised to find the older man wanted his help in navigating the professional ramifications of marrying Sidle.

It could have been accomplished easily enough if they had been willing to work on separate shifts, but they both wanted to stay on graveyard. Grissom was offering to step down as supervisor, but that would impact the grants the lab was currently receiving and Ecklie didn't want that.

It was a political minefield and it was just the sort of thing Conrad Ecklie navigated best.

To his knowledge, no one else in the lab knew of their relationship. He had set up an "off the record" meeting with McKeen outside of the lab. They were both trying to figure out the best way to keep Grissom as supervisor, Sidle on graveyard, and allow them to be married. It wouldn't be an internal problem but it could become an issue if, or when, court testimony grew vicious. They were working on an unofficial plan before taking it to the sheriff.

He was out to dinner with his "new" wife when the call came in. Hostage situation involving a cop and somebody from the lab at a health food store.

'How the hell does a hostage situation occur at a health food store?' was the first thing that ran through his mind.

He hadn't been given details, just the address, so he put Jenny in a cab and went to the scene.

When he arrived, Willows, Brown, Sanders, Stokes and a couple of people from swing were already camped out front. No Grissom, no Sidle. The CSIs all wore blank, solemn faces, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. "What's going on, Catherine?"

Catherine's voice was coming out at a higher pitch than normal in her agitation, "Sara and Brass are in there with Vincent Lurie. He's the suspect from…"

"The Marlin case a few years ago, yeah, I remember," he closed his eyes and shook his head. The girl had looked just like Sidle. The entire night shift had been wrecked for days, Grissom especially. This was not random. This was bad. "Where's Grissom?"

"DB with insect activity out in the desert before shift started. He's out of cell and radio range," her voice was steadier with this response. "We just got here; I haven't had a chance to send for him, yet."

Ecklie exhaled loudly. He didn't want to leave with one of his CSIs in danger, but Grissom would need to be handled carefully. He felt sure none of Grissom's people knew of his relationship with Sidle or they would have already sent for him. If he went to get Grissom himself, people would wonder what was up.

Discretion and secrecy didn't matter any more. Neither did how it looked. "I'll go get him. Just let me have a word with McKeen." He pointed to one of the swing shift CSIs, "Get your kit, you'll need to take over for Grissom."

McKeen had agreed this was the best plan and had commandeered a cruiser and a deputy to drive him to Grissom's crime scene. This is how he found himself speeding through the desert night, sirens screaming and red and blue lights chasing each other over the flat expanse of sand and scrub. In his head he searched, trying to find the words that would be the best way to tell Gil Grissom that his best friend and the woman he wanted to marry were being held captive by a mad man.

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After his latest conversation with the negotiator, Vincent Lurie snapped the cell phone shut and threw himself down next to Sara, the gun still loosely clasped in his hand. "I'm sorry, Sara, it wasn't supposed to be this way. We should have been well on our way by now." He gave her his most charming smile, "I promise I'll make this up to you."

Sara shook her head at him, "Why are you doing this?"

"I want us to be together. I messed up before, but I know what's important now. I've got one more chance and I'm going to take it. We just need to get away from here and start over. You'll see. I won't rush you…" he seemed to want to add more, but after a glance across the aisle at Brass, he stopped.

"I don't understand why you think…" Sara stumbled over her words. "It makes no sense… I don't know you. How can you think…"

"But I know you Sara. I know we're meant to be together." He paused, briefly and then continued in a calmer tone, "Look, knowing who your boyfriends are," he waved the gun at Brass. "What they accused me of with Debbie… It's not like I could walk up and introduce myself and ask you out to dinner. It had to be this way."

She shook her head again and looked at Brass for some sort of clue as to what she should say or do. She knew whatever they were planning from the outside could only benefit from more time, but she wasn't sure how to draw it out without agitating Lurie too much.

He saw her looking at Brass and his control snapped, briefly. "Don't look at him!" he screamed. Then, he immediately calmed and said in a soothing voice, "Don't look at him. He's not your boyfriend any more. Don't look at him. Look at me."

Brass began to speak, but was immediately interrupted by Lurie pointing the gun directly at his head. "Shut up!" he snarled.

Suddenly more frightened than before, Sara turned wide eyes to him and said through dry lips, "He's not my boyfriend. He's never been my boyfriend. He's just a good friend."

"You visited him almost everyday in the hospital. You've been sleeping at his house the last three days." The doctor stated as though that proved his point. "Doesn't the other one mind?"

Remembering the rage let loose on Debbie Marlin's surgical intern boyfriend it suddenly became imperative that Lurie understand Brass was a friend, nothing more. "Yes, I've been sleeping at his house. He just got out of the hospital. I've been making him tea and fixing him soup and talking to him about basketball and golf and playing gin with him. I've been sleeping in his guest room. We are friends. Very good friends, but he is not my boyfriend."

Lurie considered her answer with a dark, twisted pout on his face. After a while his face relaxed and he nodded. "So, there's just the other one? Or are there more?"

Sara hesitated, wondering how long Lurie had been stalking her and how much he knew. She was sure an admission of a lover would not be a good idea, but being caught in a lie by a deranged murderer would probably be worse.

As if he could read her thoughts, Lurie shook his head. "Don't start lying to me, Sara. No matter how many there are, they're all in the past. I just need to know how many men have you been sleeping with the last three weeks." Three weeks since he had first seen her. Three weeks since she became **_his_**. "Is there just the one or are there more?"

He seemed to be certain that she had a lover. She had to assume he knew about Grissom. "Just the one," she agreed softly, aware of Brass's eyes on her, but without the heated intensity of the doctor's gaze.

If somehow Lurie made it out of this alive she would have to deal with her fears for Grissom's safety. That was of course assuming she made it out alive as well. But, right here… right now… Lurie couldn't hurt him and that offered her a small measure of comfort.

"You live with him?" Lurie's voice had an almost hurt quality to it. Eyes downcast, she nodded. He paused a minute, then continued, "Is he the father of your baby, too?"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, but I have some of the DVDs. And Season 6 on pre-order.

A/N: Thanks to Nightblight, who took time out of her incredibly busy life to Beta this for me. She rocks!

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He had accessed her medical records. The thought stunned her more than she thought possible.

Her heart clenched and a chill coursed through her as she desperately tried to temper the fear beginning to well up inside her. There were only three people in the world that knew she was pregnant. Grissom, her doctor and her doctor's nurse. The only way Lurie would know is if he had accessed her medical records.

Sara didn't know why she was so shocked, but she was. Yes, he had killed three people that she knew of, one of them right in front of her. He had been following her, stalking her for sometime and now he was holding her hostage. But somehow the idea that he had accessed her medical records made her feel exposed and violated. Not to mention petrified for the tiny life inside her.

Lurie sat beside her on the off white tiled floor with his back against the checkout counter. His knees were bent, and his hands almost carelessly clasping the gun hanging between his knees. His gaze fell on her. He was expecting an answer, but she turned her head away.

It unnerved her that she could feel his eyes on her, but Sara refused to look at him. Instead, she stared across at Brass. His head was resting against the wall of the inset checkout counter, partially obscuring a price list for organic produce and a reminder to all cashiers to check the bottom rack of shopping carts. His eyes were closed again, but she could tell from the set of his rugged face he was not relaxed or disinterested, just pretending to be so.

Lurie began speaking softly to her though she refused to look at him. "Several years ago, I actually took a vacation. I've never done that much, you know? It's always been about the work, but, there was a conference I wanted to attend in Capetown, South Africa. While I was there I went on a photo safari at a game preserve." He continued to eye her profile; looking for a reaction, waiting for her to give him some indication, some acknowledgement that she was hearing what he had to say.

He didn't want to upset her, but it really was for the best that she understand; there must be no lies or deceit. Nothing could come between them; she might not be happy at first, but she would understand in the long run he was only doing what was best for them. "A new male lion had recently defeated the previous master and taken over the pride. He was systematically slaughtering all of the young cubs so the females of the pride would stop nursing and go into estrus. He didn't do it out of any antipathy for his predecessor or a desire to hurt his mates. It was simply to ensure the fastest connection with the females of his pride and that his offspring were brought into the world as fast as possible." He paused, waiting for the meaning of his words to sink in.

Sara listened to him with a growing sense of horror mingled with repulsion. It took every ounce of self control she had not to overtly react to what he was intimating. When he continued, "We're going to have to get rid of it, Darling," she still refused to look at him, but she did move.

With an awkward, graceless dignity, she struggled to a kneeling position and knee walked over to Brass whose eyes had opened during the doctor's speech. She looked at him and indicated the space to his right with a jerk of her head, saying a terse "Scoot."

Brass quickly hid the smile that had begun to form and moved to his right as far as the counter would allow and Sara slid inelegantly to the floor at his left side, drawing her knees up in front of her, leaning her head back against the counter and closing her eyes. She was not going to look at him, or even remotely acknowledge what he was suggesting.

Lurie studied her troubled expression twisting his face; after a few minutes he rose to evaluate the situation in the parking lot.

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The lights could be seen faintly in the distance shortly before the sirens' sound reached the scene. The car was still some miles off when Grissom and the others at the scene noticed it.

Grissom was not surprised to see the patrol car heading toward the crime scene, nor was he surprised by the lights. They were far enough out in the desert that cell service was non-existent and radio coverage was spotty. Whenever there was a scene at one of these remote desert locations the arrival of a car was the only way to get messages to the patrolman on duty or make whoever else was working the scene aware of any new developments.

The sirens were unusual though; it was usually just the lights. A rookie driver, Grissom surmised and he went back to collecting.

When the car finally reached the scene, Grissom's attention was drawn by the sound of multiple car doors closing and he glanced up at the new arrivals. His eyes fell on the most recognizable of the group, the tall, thin form of Conrad Ecklie silhouetted by the headlights as he made his approach. He immediately began a mental inventory of reasons the Assistant Director would be in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night in the middle of this crime scene.

DB with connections? No, they didn't even have an ID on the vic, yet. High profile case? No, they weren't working any serials currently. This actually looked like natural causes; the only mystery would be how the body got here.

His suspicions of something unusual were confirmed when he noticed another figure trudging along a few feet behind Ecklie. The other man was carrying a field kit and looked like Johnson from swing. This is when Grissom realized it probably wasn't this case at all. Ecklie had brought another CSI to take over his case. There had to be a bigger case back in town.

Grissom stood from his crouched position as Ecklie approached. The Assistant Director waved the other man off, mumbling a terse "Wait here" and continued to where Grissom was waiting for him.

The night shift supervisor inclined his head. "Evening, Conrad. What brings you out tonight?" He felt a tendril of fear winding its way through his chest when he saw the look of distress on the man's face.

Ecklie waited until he was within inches of the other man before speaking. "Gil, we have a situation and I need for you to come back into town with me now."

Grissom noted he hadn't said 419 or DB or crime scene. "Define 'situation' for me, Conrad." He felt his heart rate increase slightly.

"A hostage situation." At Grissom's elevated eyebrow, Ecklie leaned further into the other man's personal space. "Gil, the most important thing right now is that you know that she hasn't been hurt…"

He moved from point A to point B without hesitation, immediately connecting the dots and suddenly felt the bottom drop out of his world. Unconsciously, he grabbed the other man's forearm and gasped out, "Sara?"

The younger man answered, "She's not hurt. Get in the car, Gil. Let's not waste any time…I'll tell you what I know on the way."

Face pale, mouth agape it took him a minute to process what his boss was saying. It finally filtered through the cloud of disbelief and terror and he nodded once, brusquely and began walking toward the patrol car with out a glance back. He stopped long enough to hand Johnson the keys to his SUV without saying a word and then continued on. Ecklie followed.

The little he knew was conveyed fairly rapidly as they faced each other in the back seat of the cruiser.

_The call had come from the manager of the store…what they had at first assumed was a robbery in progress: a man was pointing a gun at two of the store's customers. By the time the first officer arrived on scene, people outside the store had reported shots fired and it was no longer a robbery but a hostage situation. It wasn't until the last flurry of negotiations to release some of the hostages that anyone on the outside knew there were two members of the LVPD in the store. It was then that they also learned who the assailant was._

"Lurie! Oh, Jesus, God," Grissom's voice came out in a pained moan and he bent his head into his hands. "This wasn't random. He's seen Sara," his voice filtering through his thick fingers was laced with shock and alarm. _Sara was in danger. Sara and the baby._

Ecklie sighed, "I didn't want to assume that but one of the released hostages confirms that he was concerned with Sara, seemed very attentive to her."

Something Ecklie said earlier caught up with Grissom and he raised his head suddenly, "Wait, wait…shots fired? You said nobody was hurt, though, right?"

The look Ecklie gave him was filled with trepidation and sympathy. "No, Gil, I said Sara wasn't hurt and she's not. All of the released hostages confirmed neither she nor Brass had been injured, but…" he took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to say what needed saying.

There was no way to phrase it to make it easier for Grissom to hear.

"Lurie and the manager exchanged gunfire. A customer was wounded, non life threatening. But the manager was killed," his voice softened, as if by saying it in a softer tone he could ease the implication.

"Oh, God, Sara…" He leaned his head against the back of his seat, fighting the panic that threatened to engulf him. Losing control would do no good. It took him a moment but he managed to settle his rampaging thoughts.

Cautiously regulating his tone, Ecklie asked, "Are you going to be OK to go to the scene? Is there some…"

Grissom held up a hand in a stopping motion and just sat in silence for another minute and then, Ecklie watched as something changed in the other man. It was almost like watching him don another skin. His breathing regulated, his shoulders straightened and the mask was put into place. He leaned forward and spoke to the sheriff's deputy, his voice brisk, but polite, "Can you go any faster?"

He needed to be there. He needed her to know he was there.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lurie was on the phone again. Brass craned his head as far as he could from his seated position and noted the doctor pacing back in forth through the main aisle of the store. He was agitated but did not appear to be out of control. It looked like he might be on this call awhile. It was a moment of reprieve for both of them.

Brass turned to the woman at his side. She had not spoken since moving to sit beside him and he was unsure what to say to her at this point. Her eyes were closed almost as if in denial, and her knees were drawn as close to her body as she could manage as if she was using them as a shield.

Sara was pregnant? Jesus Christ, that amplified the whole nightmare to an unbelievable degree. He thought back to the moment the shooting started and tackling her to the ground. If he had known she was pregnant he probably would have hesitated and she could be dead now. But tackling her like that, it could have hurt the baby…hell, the stress of this whole situation had to be detrimental to her and the child she carried.

Shit.

"You doing OK?" he asked, just for something to say.

"Yeah, I'm OK," she answered in a tired voice. "I just want this to be over." Her voice trembled slightly.

"I know, Doll. Me, too."

He paused a moment and then tried for a lighter tone. "So, is it anybody I know or do I have to introduce my shotgun to the new man in your life?"

She gave him a dark smile, "Brass, you know I love you, but a shotgun wedding reference probably isn't the most tasteful joke you could make at the moment," she intoned at the same time jerking her head towards the aisle where the manager's body still lay sprawled in a pool of his own blood.

"I hadn't really thought of that;" he didn't want her thinking of that right now, so he continued, "but then, you already know what a twisted bastard I am, so, I'm not real worried about shattering any of your illusions." He grinned tightly at her.

They were silent again for a few minutes listening to Lurie saying the same things to the negotiators he had already said a dozen times over the last few hours. Then Brass stated flatly, "It's not gonna work."

"What's not going to work, Brass? Lurie's plan or the negotiators' plan?" Her voice was much steadier and calmer than she felt.

"Your attempt to distract me from nosing into your private life," he answered dryly, and he leveled a piercing gaze at her.

Sara couldn't help it, she gave a snorting laugh at the "Give me a break" expression on his face. She leaned into him and playfully nudged his shoulder with her own. "No introductions will be necessary."

It was his turn to snort, "It's about damned time."

Sara's voice held a neutral, innocent tone. "Oh, I didn't know you wanted me to be with Greg so much." Her eyes flashed devilishly at him.

Jim Brass started, minutely, until he caught sight of her expression. "You're a funny girl." His words were thickly laden with his usual sarcasm.

"Can't hang out with you for six years and not pick up a few tricks," she nudged him again, still half smiling at him.

"Yeah," his tone was droll, "I have a rapier like wit and I know how to use it." This time he nudged her. "How long?"

"Over a year."

"The thing with Nick?"

"No, actually about a month before that. Right after the murder at Desert State Hospital."

_She was exhausted. She just wanted to finish her shower, go to bed and sleep through until next shift but whoever was knocking on her door had other ideas. Damn. _

_She decided to ignore it but the knocking persisted as she toweled off and wrapped herself in a towel. The knocking stopped. Good._

_Then her cell phone started ringing. "For God's sake," she grumbled to herself as she moved into the living room to get the phone. She checked the display; Grissom. _

"_Sidle."_

"_Why aren't you answering the door?" his voice was clipped._

_Her irritation at his tone came out a little sharper than she intended. "Because I don't make a habit of answering the door naked and wet."_

_Wow. That came out sounding much more inappropriate than she meant for it to._

_And the ensuing silence had to be the loudest she'd ever heard. _

_She sighed. "I was in the shower, Gris."_

_He cleared his throat. "Uh, I'll, uh, I'll wait out here until you're dressed." And he hung up._

_She gave the phone in her hand a raised eyebrow, then went to make herself presentable for company. She brushed her teeth and hair then put on her most comfortable jeans and a camisole with her soft chambray shirt unbuttoned over it. She debated making him wait while she dried her hair and put on some make-up, but her irritation gave way to practicality; she was too tired and he didn't care what she looked like anyway. _

_She did put on some lip gloss, though._

_Sara figured he was just checking up on her. The case would have been hard for her no matter what but the extra special bonus of being attacked and threatened by a serial rapist certainly added to the difficulty. So, she'd reassure him and he'd leave so she could get some sleep. _

_It was nice of him to care, really. _

_When she opened the door, she tossed him a soft smile, "Come on in." The slim brunette stepped back invitingly._

_He entered and waited as she closed the door. She'd expected him to move off and take a seat on her couch, but was surprised when she turned around to find him just a few inches from her, staring at her with a dark intensity. A lump to formed in her throat and she gave him another tentative smile, "I'm OK, Gris. Really."_

_He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly back and forth. When he spoke his voice was full of raw emotion. "I'm glad you're all right, Sara, because I sure as Hell am not." _

_Her voice was soft as she answered him, "Everything turned out fine; there was nothing you could do and he didn't hurt me anyway." Her slender fingers fumbled with the edges of her shirt, as she tried to assuage both his and her own fearful memory of the events of the past few days._

_Grissom shook his head and sucked in a shuddering breath. "It's not Adam Trent…ok, it's a little bit about that. But it's more about me. Me and you. Us."_

_Her stomach was suddenly full of butterflies. He could not stand this close to her and say things like that. He just couldn't._

_She waved her hand at her sofa. "Sit down, Grissom. Do you want something to drink?" She asked moving away slightly, trying to increase the distance between them. His admission had put her more that a little off kilter._

"_No," capturing her hand in his, he moved over to the couch and sat down, tugging her down to sit beside him. "No, I just want to talk to you…I just want…" his thumb was absently stroking soft circles across the back of her hand and she wondered if he realized how distracting his touch was._

_He still seemed to be struggling to find the words he needed but she was glad for the respite from having to pay attention to words when there was honest-to-God physical contact happening. There was no way, there was just no way she could remain unaffected by his touch, even if it was something as small as his thumb on her hand._

_She gave a silent sigh. Just because she had promised herself she wasn't going to moon over him or chase him anymore it didn't mean she had stopped loving him or stopped wanting to take measurements of every part of his body with her tongue. _

_He finally started speaking again. "When I asked you to come to Vegas it didn't turn out the way I thought it would. I don't know if I hadn't thought through the implications of the supervisor/subordinate thing or if I thought they'd put Brass back in charge…but it didn't turn out the way I wanted." There was an honesty and a clarity in his tone. Almost as if by hearing his own words made what he was feeling real._

"_How did you want it to turn out, Grissom?" she asked tenderly, a glimmer of hope lighting her heart._

_He shook his head. "I wanted to be near you, to work with you, to be your friend until…until you were ready…"_

"_Ready for what? You can't mean ready for a relationship because we could have started that in San Francisco long before I came to Vegas," she tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "We could have started a relationship any time after I got here. I don't think I've ever made a secret of how I felt about that."_

"_No," he drew the vowel out several times over. "I knew you wanted to be with me…I didn't understand it. I still don't, but I knew it. I just.." he shook his head again and started over, trying to find the words that would make everything that had transpired between them better somehow. "How old were you when we met?"_

"_I had just turned twenty-four," she rose from the couch and went into the small kitchen and got a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She needed to distance herself a little. Just to allow her to gain a little perspective to breathe. She returned immediately and held out the bottle to him._

"_I had just turned thirty-nine and there you were, this beautiful, amazing, intelligent, generous **child**," he accepted the bottle from her and tugged her back down beside him again, not letting go of her hand, "and I never wanted anything so bad in my life. I knew if I had you I'd never be able to let you go. You hadn't lived at all and if I…if we were together with you so young, you'd always wonder what you missed and someday you would leave me to find out. I had to wait for you to grow up and live, so that when you were ready it would last."_

_He let go of her hand long enough to open the water bottle. He took a long pull and grabbed her hand again. _

_She wanted to argue that she was very mature when she was twenty-four, but it would have been a lie. She was intellectually mature, but socially and emotionally she was probably behind the curve. So, really, there was no honest argument in her. He was right._

"_Then I asked you to come to Vegas and I thought everything would work out and everything seemed headed in the right direction at first and then," he gripped her hand a little tighter, "then it all started falling apart and instead of getting closer to you I ended up further away. I didn't even have our friendship anymore and I was scared and hurt and defensive and angry. I know I hurt you and I'm sorry." His eyes held the same hope her heart did._

_He drew her hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on the palm. She wondered absently if he realized he was kissing the hand that had been scarred in the explosion; she had always thought of her hand and her heart being scarred together that day. _

"_These last few months, I thought we were at least getting back to being friends. Then, yesterday, after…" he swallowed hard. "Of course it shook me, seeing him threatening you…with his hands on you…I've never been so terrified," he shuddered. "But afterwards, when I asked you if you wanted to be removed you were so calm and centered. If I had asked you that a year ago you would have gone into a rage about how I didn't trust you or didn't think you were good enough. Or you would have broken down and been overly emotional." _

"_Sara, I've been waiting ten years for you to catch up. And it occurred to me this morning you've probably passed me." His voice was tender, pleading. "I came here this morning to ask you to give me a chance to catch up to you." _

_He had answered all of her unspoken questions, the why nots? and the why nows? It felt like every dream she'd had for the last ten years was about to come true._

_It also felt, strangely enough, like a giant step backwards._

"_Gris," her voice was tentative, "I do want you, I want this, I want us, but I can't do the emotional rollercoaster again…" he started to speak, but she held up a staying hand. "I don't want to guess. I don't want to go around all the time agonizing over every word and silence wondering if I'm reading too much into a look or if it means something." She knew what she was about to ask was going to be a lot from him. "I need to know exactly what you want, I need to know what 'this' is to you."_

_He took a breath. "Everything. I want everything. This is everything to me." She looked as if she was having one of those analyzing moments she seemed to want to avoid, so he continued quickly. "I want to date you. I want to make love to you. I want to live with you, marry you and have a family with you. I want to grow old with you and I want to die in your arms."_

_H_e _watched as her head lowered, as if she couldn't meet disappointment head on if the answer to her question wasn't what she wanted, yet her voice was full of quiet hope, "Do you love me?"_

"_My God Sara, I was **born** in love with you," he nearly laughed. "I remember the first time I saw you. I remember the first time I thought about what it would be like to kiss you. I remember the first time you smiled at me. I remember all the reasons I want you and all the reasons I shouldn't but, dear God in Heaven, Sara," his voice dropped and he reached out with his free hand and softly stroked her cheek, "Sweet Sara," his thumb stroked over her lip, "My Sara," he exerted the slightest pressure under her chin and she raised her eyes to meet his, "I don't remember what it's like **not **to love you. I feel like I've always loved you and I know that I always will."_

_Mental health be damned. How was she supposed to say no to that?_

_She blinked at him and nodded. "OK."_

"_OK?" he responded with a lopsided smile._

"_OK. Yeah. That's good." She couldn't help but smile at him._

_He laughed as he drew her into his arms. _

"So, other than the shopping trip from Hell, everything is good?" Brass's voice brought her back to the present.

She gave him the sweetest smile he had ever seen; "Yeah, things are good."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There were no fibers to collect, no fingerprints to lift, no trace to analyze. There was no mystery to solve by investigation or science.

They all felt completely helpless.

Vartan was lead for the police and even though there was no evidence collecting to be done he gave the graveyard CSIs carte blanche to be privy to all of the meetings and information that was available to them, but none of it mattered.

None of it was going to change what was going on inside the damned store.

Catherine wandered from group to huddled group, picking up what information she could. She listened in on the tail end of the interviews with the released hostages.

"He was really polite," one of the blonde, red-eyed cashiers said in a wobbly voice. "He kept saying he didn't want to hurt anybody but he killed Mr. Kendrick," she sucked in her bottom lip on a wet, sobbing hiccup. "He has a little boy, ya know? Justin, he's three." She shook her head as fresh tears filled her eyes. "Is my mom here yet? I want my Mom." The tears spilled over and more sobs broke out as she whispered, "His brains were all over the place," shoulders shaking, she folded in on herself and she couldn't say anymore.

This kid was just a couple of years older than Lindsey.

Lindsey. Hard as nails and not even fifteen; if she were in the same situation, she'd take a bullet herself before she'd ask for **_her_** mom.

Catherine sighed. How much of that could she honestly blame on Eddie's death? Not as much as she'd like. Lindsay's behavior was a direct result of the old premise – lead by example. Her daughter was more like her than she cared to admit.

Sara had been right when she had told Catherine that she allowed her sexuality to cloud her judgment. They had never talked about it after Sara's suspension, but after some time and distance Catherine thought one of the reasons what Sara said had made her so angry was the truth of it.

She thought of a bumper sticker she had seen once: _The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off._

Worse, she knew she wasn't just guilty of it professionally, it was personal too. A perfect example of it could be found in the eyes her fourteen year old daughter.

She was such a flaming hypocrite. She could belittle her mother for being used by a womanizing, lying cheat for forty-odd years and still let her daughter see the same behavior from her. The only difference between Catherine and her own mother? One man versus many.

She wanted to go home and wrap Lindsey up in a tight hug. She wanted to stop the parade of men and too many hours on the job. She wanted one more chance to be a good mother. She wanted one more chance to be the kind of mother her daughter would ask for in a crisis.

She made up her mind. She would do it, just as soon as Brass and Sara walked out of that store in one piece.

This was one of those times Catherine doubted her leadership ability. She ought to send one of the guys to the hospital to sit in on the interview with the injured woman. But she couldn't; not when she saw how tense they all were, knowing how much they all cared about Sara and Brass, and how they all needed to be here.

Grissom would be able to do it, but she couldn't.

She knew a lot of people thought he was cold, that he didn't care. But she also knew that that wasn't true, even though she had more than once accused him of being unfeeling. Work was the way he cared; doing everything he could to solve the puzzle, to save the day, to find justice.

How far out in the desert was that damned scene, anyway? She turned to look off into the bright lights of the quiet Vegas side street, and hugged herself.

She had been surprised when Ecklie had gone to get him; but Ecklie had been surprising her for the past few months. He had been much easier to work with and seemed to be getting along better with Grissom. She had even seen him exchange pleasantries with Sara. And that had been just plain…weird.

Whatever.

Catherine supposed even Ecklie couldn't miss that Grissom had deep feelings for the younger woman. She knew the two CSIs shared a history and while the interactions between the young woman and her supervisor appeared to have taken a beating, Catherine was fairly sure Grissom's real feelings for Sara had never wavered.

Again, whatever. None of this was helping the situation at hand.

Grissom needed to be here. He needed to use that big brain of his and tell them where to look, what to do, how they could help end this mess and get Brass and Sara out of there alive.

They needed him.

She wished he would just hurry the fuck up, before the psycho doc went ballistic and mowed down everyone in his path.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lurie was off the phone and hovering over her again.

She wished the negotiators would just keep him talking and far away from her.

Their time inside the store was divided into two categories. The tense time of Lurie's presence circling around her in some demented trajectory and the time when he left them alone to speak with the negotiators. This was a time that was marked by the release of tension through quiet conversation and black humor with Brass.

Whatever Lurie was negotiating for, Sara knew one thing; he was most likely to get was a sharp shooter's bullet to the brain. She and Brass simply had to be ready not to get caught in the crossfire.

She had felt better prepared to remain clear headed before he had threatened the baby. She was fairly certain he wouldn't do anything to harm her while they were in here and the chances of him making it more than ten feet outside the door with a pulse were infinitesimal, but she was frightened nonetheless. For herself, for Brass, and for her baby.

So much could go wrong and for the first time in her life, Sara Sidle had so much to lose.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters. They do not belong to me in any way. **_Sigh_**

A/N: Thanks so much to all of you who have reviewed.

Huge thanks to Nightblight, who took time out of her incredibly busy life to Beta this for me, not once, but twice. If there's something in here you like, she probably either suggested it or tickled it out of my reluctant brain.

* * *

He had gotten more rope from the back and tied their feet then untied their hands. Then he brought them "chickenless chicken salad" sandwiches from the small refrigerator section of ready to eat foods and some sort of fruity tea. 

Brass bitched under his breath about "god-awful tofu crap" but he ate the sandwich anyway. He needed to keep his strength up for whatever might happen over the coming hours.

Sara tried to eat hers but she was having a hard time mustering much enthusiasm; she knew she needed to eat. She needed the nutrition and she certainly didn't want to get lightheaded when she should be keeping her wits about her. She managed about half of it and was idly picking the rest apart with her thumb and index finger under Lurie's continuous scrutiny.

"Darling, if you're not hungry, I understand, but you need to drink your tea so you don't get dehydrated," he told her in a solicitous manner.

Sara bristled; she didn't care for the endearment or the tea; it had a bitter aftertaste under the fruit flavor. Some of the new infusions were like that or maybe the store had simply over-brewed it, she wasn't sure which.

"I don't like it," her voice sounded much more petulant than she intended.

He smiled at her as if she was a spoilt child, "Well, I'm sorry you don't like it, but you need to drink it. It's a green tea base; there are a lot of health benefits to green tea. I'm going to help you take better care of yourself. You need to start now by drinking your tea."

She didn't want to drink the tea, but more than that, she didn't want to agitate him, so she drank the tea, choking it down quickly, trying to taste it as little as possible.

"Good girl," he took the empty cup from her, lightly stroking her fingers when they made contact around the styrofoam. She cringed involuntarily at his touch, causing him to look at her with a wounded expression.

Before he disposed of their trash, he re-tied their hands and untied their feet.

As the doctor walked away, Brass looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"What?" she inquired, flatly.

He gave an exaggerated sniff and said, "I dunno, I guess my feelings are a little hurt he didn't care about the benefits of green tea for my health." He assumed a doleful expression, "Do you think it's something I said?"

She grinned at him. "You're an idiot," she said fondly.

"Compared to you and your boyfriend, yeah," he drawled.

Brass had had the same tea she had. "Didn't you think it tasted bitter?" she complained rubbing her tongue over the roof of her mouth, trying to wipe the last of the tea flavor off of her tastebuds.

He shrugged. "Not really, but I don't have the refined tea palate that you do, either. I'm used to drinking the police station swill that they call coffee; that stuff's as bitter as a middle-aged woman whose husband left her for the babysitter. "

Sara smiled, "Well, the tea wasn't **that** bitter."

Sara moved her head until she could see Lurie. He was back on the phone. Good. She leaned in towards the seasoned detective and spoke in a low tone, "Tell me what's going to happen. How is this going to play out?" She hoped having a better idea of what could happen might calm the fear that seemed to be twisting knots in her stomach.

He ran his top teeth over his bottom lip and then followed it with a pass of his tongue as he considered. "They'll keep talking to him, at least for a while, try to get him to surrender." He shook his head, "I don't think it's gonna work."

Sara swallowed; she was afraid he was right. "OK, so more talking. Then what?"

"I'm thinking another couple of hours and they'll cut power in here, make it uncomfortable, put more pressure on him to give up. If they don't get anywhere, the next step would be to storm the building…wait, does Grissom know you're pregnant?"

"Of course, he knows I'm pregnant." What she didn't add was he had actually figured it out before she had.

_He met her at the door and kissed her as he relieved her of the grocery bags she was carrying. "You're late," he said._

"_Sorry. Brass said he's sick of hospital food, so I thought I'd make him some soup. I had to stop at the store," she said as she began pulling celery and carrots out of the bags._

"_No, I mean, you're **late,**" he said as he jerked his head toward the magnetic "Insects" calendar on the side of the refrigerator; this months photo was a spider preparing a grasshopper as an arachnid snack. She would be relieved when this month was over; she hated watching grasshopper torture every time she went to get a bottle of water. _

_Sara put a few small potatoes on the granite countertop and sighed. Sometimes being intimate with a biologist was a little unnerving. Almost from the time they had become lovers he had started tracking her cycle, telling her about miniscule changes in her scent, __sensitivity and physiology during various points in the monthly process. _

_She had not hesitated to tell him she thought that was weird. He, in turn, had explained how as a life scientist he found the entire process completely fascinating. She had kissed his cheek and repeated, "Weird."_

_Sometimes she felt a little like a control group constantly under observation. "Yeah, I know. I figured it was stress from the thing with Brass." _

_He had both hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. "Why don't we take a test?" he asked as he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. _

_God, he was cute when he was excited._

_She smirked at him. "First of all, we? And second, no, I just got home; I'm not going back to the store. Third, it's just stress," she said as she looped her arms around his neck and kissed the cleft in his chin._

"_What if we already had some tests around here?" He asked with an innocent expression._

"_What? Why would we have…Gil," her tone turned scolding "you said we weren't trying, you said we'd just see what happened…" she shook her head at him. "Wait, tests? As in, more than one?" She narrowed her eyes at him, pretending to be aggravated, when she really found his behavior endearing. The man really was one of a kind._

"_Please?" he cajoled_.

_She rolled her eyes. "OK, but you have to promise not to be disappointed when it's negative." She gave him a quick peck on the lips._

_Five minutes later she came out of the bathroom and said, "Set your timer. Use a glove if you're going to touch that thing." And she went back to the kitchen to start her soup._

_She was peeling an onion when she heard him behind her and turned to face him. The look on his face as he studied the stick in his gloved hand was completely blank. _

"_I told you so," she declared._

"_No," a huge grin split his face as he turned the stick towards her, "I told you."_

_He had swept her up into his arms and twirled with her around the kitchen. Brass's soup was entirely forgotten as they spent the rest of the day in bed, making love and making plans, finally falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms._

Brass nodded. "Ok, good. So, he'll warn them not to use tear gas." Brass heaved a sigh as he continued to contemplate the situation from a tactical perspective. "Best bet would be a sharp shooter but there are too many ads and posters on the windows; I doubt there's a clear shot," he shook his head and wondered how honest he could be with her. "I don't know…they might let him think they're giving him a car and letting him go and get him into the open that way, but that's risky."

What he didn't add was it was most risky to them as the hostages; more specifically to her.

But this was Sara; she'd figure that out on her own.

Jim Brass was a smart man and a good cop; he could accurately evaluate most situations and name the most likely outcomes. But right now he was hoping there was some angle that had escaped him, because none of the options he had considered so far had a high probability of getting the two of them away from Lurie unharmed.

He hoped his fear for Sara and the child she carried were exaggerating the negatives of the situation. Thing is, he was almost sure they weren't.

* * *

Once upon a time, Tom Gardner had been a cop. He had left the job after fifteen years when his wife had died from an aneurysm, leaving him a single parent of two adolescent boys and a ten year old girl. 

He couldn't keep putting his life on the line when his kids were already one parent down.

They had been smart; they had just as much life insurance on Steph as they had on him. So, he put half of it away for the kids' future, resigned from the force and used the rest of the money to set himself up as a PI.

Twelve years later, his oldest son was a successful architect, his youngest son was in his final year of law school, married and about to make him a grandfather and his baby girl was about to start med school at UCLA. His modest little PI firm had gone from just him and assistant to fourteen investigators, six assistants, two of the best A/V guys Vegas had to offer and one extremely talented computer geek with slight anti-social tendencies and barely manageable OCD.

His firm was reputable, discreet and expensive. They were the best. He wasn't aware of every case that went through, but he supervised most of them. And if someone was willing to pay the extra fees, he would work their case himself. It surprised him how many people were willing to pay.

He was working late, waiting on a couple of his team to report back from tailing the wife of the CEO of one of the town's newer hotel/casinos. It seems the wife chose to gamble at other hotels and money wasn't the only thing she was gambling away. He hated cases like that; they had a couple of young kids and when this turned into a bloodbath in the middle of divorce court it was the kids that would be the bloodiest.

Sitting at his dark mahogany desk he was trying to decipher his new accountant's monthly reports when Kimberly Holt, his top investigator and head of second shift burst into the room, breathless. "Hey, boss, what was the name of that doctor you did the shadow and research for a couple of weeks ago? Was it Lurie?"

He placed the P & L statement carefully on the desk and looked at the young woman over the top of his glasses, "Yes, Dr. Vincent Lurie, head of surgery at Desert Palm." He shrugged carelessly. "Ordinary stuff, nothing scandalous; just a snoop job. Why?"

"Wasn't the subject somebody from PD?" Kim was speaking unusually rapidly; she seemed to vibrate with tension and nervousness.

"Crime lab." He clarified. "And again, I ask, why do **you** ask?" He was using his boss voice.

"Jess just called; she had gone down to PD to try to sweet talk that night guy into letting her look at those logs, but she said almost everybody on the force is at this health food store where a doctor, she thinks they said his name was Lurie, was holding two people from PD hostage."

Holy fucking shit.

* * *

"It doesn't make any sense," Greg said flatly. "If he was stalking her and planning on abducting her, why would he do it when she was in the middle of a store with a bunch of other people?" 

Nick was already nodding, "Yeah, wouldn't it make more sense to wait until she was alone and grab her then?"

Grissom pursed his lips. "Something spooked him, caused him to act impulsively." Maybe if they knew what had motivated him they could find something that would convince him to release Sara and Brass. What was it? What happened that caused the doctor to take such a dangerous and exposed risk?

The night shift supervisor had arrived at the scene a little over an hour ago; he and Ecklie had immediately met with McKeen, Vartan and Ben Nichols, the head of Clark County's SWAT team and trained hostage negotiator. The SWAT command post was set up in the far corner of the parking lot, as far from the media as possible and out of sight of the store's windows. The other CSIs had watched from a distance as information was exchanged and discussed.

Then Grissom came to stand with them and informed them the only strategy for now was to continue to try to talk Lurie into surrendering. So far it had been futile.

The store's parking lot was an overly bright hub of activity that was doing absolutely nothing to get Sara and Brass out of that store.

The tight knot in the center of Grissom's chest would not go away. He felt completely helpless. He was a man very much used to solving puzzles and fixing problems, but this time, when the outcome meant the most, there was nothing he could do.

Lurie kept saying he wanted a car with a full tank of gas and no tracking devices; he wanted to be able to leave and not be followed. To the law enforcement personnel this seemed to demonstrate how unhinged the man was; surely any sane person would know that wasn't going to happen.

For right now, they were playing a waiting game.

Warrick thought about what Texan had said for a moment and posed, "Gris, didn't Sara take the week off specifically to take care of Brass? If she's been holed up in Brass's house for the last few days without leaving maybe Lurie thought his opportunities to take her were limited." Warrick was overwhelmed by the night's events and desperately hoping something would begin to make sense soon.

Grissom nodded; it was a sound theory. "Yeah, I think she's been there with him since he came home except for…" and he stopped. Except for her first official OB appointment this morning.

He had wanted to go with her but he was in court. When he had found out about the conflict last week he had tried to get her to reschedule and she had laughed.

"_Gris, there's no need. Do you know what the doctor is going to do?" They were standing in the middle of their kitchen preparing dinner together. She had just added spaghetti to a pot of boiling water. She turned to watch him as he chopped vegetables for a salad. "She's going to confirm I'm pregnant, which we have already done twice. She's going to give me a prescription for pre-natal vitamins and a bunch of reading material, most of which you have probably already read." She snagged a piece of lettuce from the bowl, "She's going to schedule an appointment for me in about a month and that is going to be it."_

_He had abandoned his salad and wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her in tight against him, saying with deep sincerity, "I just don't want to miss anything. I don't ever want you to feel like you're going through this by yourself."_

_She had cupped his cheek in her palm and answered tenderly. "Babe, you're not going to miss anything. Down the road, when we get to the heartbeat and ultrasound appointments you should come, but right now it would just be a waste of your time." _

He had known she was probably right and had agreed. When he had left court there was a voice message from her on his phone. She sounded pleased and playful. _"Hey there, Dad! It's not just our little secret any more. We are officially on record; we're having a baby."_ He had smiled when he heard a happy little laugh before she continued._ "Dr. Porter says I am in perfect health and everything looks good. I'm headed back to Brass's house." _She had paused briefly before continuing in a more serious tone_, "I miss you so much. I'll try to call you tonight after he goes to sleep. Love you Babe."_

"Except for what, Gris?" Warrick prompted. Grissom had paled.

_It's not just our little secret any more._

"Excuse me," Grissom muttered as he turned to walk back toward the command center. God, if that was the reason…if discovering Sara was pregnant had set Lurie off…both Sara and the baby could be in more danger than he had first realized.

"That's weird," Warrick said as he watched the man walk quickly away.

"No," Greg retorted, "That's Grissom."

* * *

A disheveled Vartan was crossing the parking lot to meet him. "Grissom, they need you over there," he jerked his head toward the command vehicle. The detective looked exhausted and stressed; his tie was loosened far down his chest and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. 

As he and Vartan approached, Grissom saw McKeen, Ecklie and Nichols speaking with a newcomer to the group. He was a mountain of a man, easily 6'4" and 290 lbs. with craggy features, steel grey hair and blue eyes; he appeared to be about McKeen's age, maybe a little younger and he was holding a stack of files.

McKeen looked up and made introductions. "Gil Grissom this is Tom Gardner."

The men shook hands solemnly, "Dr. Grissom, I'm sorry to meet you under such unpleasant circumstances, but I came here with the hope of helping."

The Under-sheriff explained, "Tom's an ex-cop. He's a PI now and he has some information that might be useful."

Grissom trained his intense azure gaze on the man, "Mr. Gardner, anything you could do to help would be more than appreciated." They were formal, polite words but no one could fail to miss the intense sincerity in his voice.

The PI took a deep breath and began, "First of all, I want to apologize for any part I or my firm has played in this situation. We were doing our jobs, but if we had known he was unstable, we would have warned Ms. Sidle." He could almost feel the other man's impatience and he hastened to continue, "About three weeks ago my firm was approached by Dr. Vincent Lurie. He said he had met a woman at the hospital while she was visiting a friend and it had been love at first sight. He wanted to know everything about her, so he could sweep her off her feet. He had gotten her name but wasn't sure of the spelling; he also said he had walked her to her car and memorized her license plate."

"And?" Grissom prompted.

"We located what we could on the web. I, uh, have a very talented computer guy. We were able to find out a lot. We shadowed her for a few days at his request. When he came in for the full report, I had to tell him she was already living with," his eyes darted briefly to McKeen and back to Grissom, "a guy, but he said that was all right he would wait until she wasn't living with him any more."

"I didn't know Sara had a boyfriend; has anyone called him?" Vartan asked and then wondered at the odd looks on the faces of four of the five men standing with him.

"Detective Vartan…" Ecklie began but was interrupted by a loud sigh from Grissom.

"Me." He looked at the now embarrassed detective. "She lives with me. We live together." He looked at Gardner, "I appreciate your efforts at discretion, but AD Ecklie and Under-sheriff McKeen are both aware of the situation and obviously, privacy is the least of my problems at the moment."

"Sorry, Grissom," Vartan mumbled, his cheeks flushed.

"It's Ok." Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose and released a breath, attempting to still his pounding heart. "How long ago did you meet with him?"

"A little over two weeks ago. He paid his bill and I haven't heard from him since." He held out a folder to Grissom. "I don't think there's anything in here that would have set him off, it's all fairly ordinary stuff, but you should know what information we provided him with."

The CSI accepted the folder with a brusque. "Thanks." The idea of their lives being so thoroughly examined without their knowledge was repugnant to him, but at least Gardner had come forward and offered to help. Another PI might not have been as willing to help undo the damage that had been done.

Gardner cleared his throat and looked appraisingly at McKeen "The next part is completely off the record." His eyes never left McKeen's face until the Under-sheriff gave a barely perceptible nod. "As I said, I have a very talented computer guy, but he isn't always clear about what information it is, uh, ethical to access. I had him start pulling everything he could get on Lurie."

He handed another folder to Grissom, with identical copies going to Vartan and Nichols. "I'm sure you've already got warrants in place but I'm fairly confident what Chad can get will cover more ground faster and deeper than what you can get." Again he looked at McKeen, "It's best if you don't ask how."

He flipped open the folder he was holding. "This is the first wave, mostly financial. He's still working on getting more." The men opened the folders and began studying the information in front of them. "As you can see, he's liquidated most of his assets over the last few weeks. I'm waiting on confirmation from Chad, but there's a money trail to the Cayman Islands. Again, I'm waiting on confirmation but it appears he may have purchased a home there."

Grissom cleared his throat; "Do you know anything about his activities in the last few days?" He was hoping someone could give him a different reason for Lurie attempting to abduct Sara other than the one he feared.

Shaking his head, Gardner replied, "No. I've got Chad working on tracing his professional and financial activities over the last week, anything that was tracked by a computer. Obviously, something happened that caused him to panic, but nothing is showing up that we can trace so far."

"I think I know what did it," Grissom stated grimly.

* * *

Warrick Brown half leaned, half sat against the bumper of one of the county SUVs with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his long legs stretched in front of him. He kept watch on the group of men huddled by the SWAT vehicle. 

Greg and Nick had gone to talk to the cops who were first on scene. The cop had already been over it with the CSIs but understood their need to detail it again.

Warrick stayed where he was so he could keep an eye on Grissom. The older man looked bad.

Yeah, this was a bad situation but so was the situation the year before with Nick and Grissom hadn't seemed this…this what? Warrick couldn't put his finger on it…Grissom just didn't seem _right._

He looked almost ill. Normally when Grissom was working a case he seemed detached, but right now he seemed distant, as if he wasn't really there.

Warrick just couldn't believe this was happening.

He was trying not to let his fear get the best of him. If this ended badly…the idea of never seeing Sara's smile again was painful. They had gotten off to a bad start, but they had become good friends. He felt about her as he imagined he would a sister…affectionate and protective. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

And Brass. Hell, you'd think what he had gone through a few weeks ago would have bought him some sort of karmic immunity, at least for a while.

Weird thoughts. Warrick shook his head. He sure as hell didn't need to be thinking weird and weighty thoughts this time around. Every time there was a crisis his thinking seemed to get messed up and he did things he shouldn't do.

He considered that his brief marriage had been bracketed by traumatic events in his friends' lives. In the aftermath of Nick's rescue he had married Tina and as Brass was fighting for his life that same marriage had crumbled.

He didn't know if the marriage was beyond saving, he just didn't know if he wanted to save it.

That particular weird and weighty thought was one that bothered him the most.

Was this the man he had become? A man who was oddly relieved his marriage was probably over? A man who didn't consider the consequences of his actions? When had he become that man?

His Grams had raised him to be a good man, an honorable man.

She had passed just before he had come to work at the lab and met Gil Grissom. She seemed to be shining a light down from Heaven straight onto Grissom's head telling her grandson, "This is the man, Warrick-child, this is the man you need to be."

He had understood that he was supposed to live right and do the right thing and be the man his Grams had always told him he could be, but he hadn't really tried until after Holly Gribbs had died. Then he understood the cost of not being the man he was supposed to be. And when Grissom had refused to fire him, he understood then about forgiveness and redemption and he had tried everyday to be that man, the one his Grams had raised him to be, the one Grissom believed he could be.

He wasn't sure when he had stopped trying as much. Maybe it was realizing Grissom wasn't perfect, maybe it was the move to swing or maybe it was just the heavy weight of life and the work. He didn't know.

But Nick got out of the box and Warrick wanted to celebrate and the way he had always celebrated best was gambling. Only this time, instead of dice or cards he gambled with his future and someone else's happiness.

Oddly, the thing he hated most about being married was the wedding itself. He knew Grams would never have forgiven him if she'd been alive. A drive-thru chapel. She would have tanned his hide but good.

He smiled at the thought.

It should have been a church; a real church with stained glass and pews and prayers. He wondered if it had been a real church if the marriage would have been any more real to him and not just one more relationship with a few more complications.

He looked at the halo of lights rising above the activity in the parking lot. He watched the moths fluttering their dangerous dance, flinging themselves joyously into the perilous brightness and he thought of the man he had become.

He had become a man who was not steady in a crisis, who made rash decisions and hurt people. He didn't want to be that man. He wanted to be the man his Grams had raised him to be.

He wanted to be the man that would know what to do. He wanted to be the man that could help save Sara and Brass, the man that could offer comfort to Cath, the man that could say the right thing to Greg and Nicky, the man that Grissom could trust with anything.

He wanted another chance to be the man his Grams had always said was in him. An honest, honorable, caring man. He wanted to be that man; he felt he **_could be_** that man.

He hadn't even realized he was crying until he felt one of his own tears fall on his hand.

He raised his face to the Nevada sky and looked beyond the lights to see stars through the tears in his eyes and he repeated what he used to say as a boy, "One more chance, please, Grams? I swear I won't let you down this time…just give me one more chance."

* * *

He couldn't stop staring at her. She was so beautiful, so full of life. How many men were blessed this way? To be given one more chance and have the second chance be sweeter than the first? 

Debbie was the shadow, Sara was the substance. She was everything Debbie was not.

He finally understood now; he understood why Debbie had to go away. She had to go away so Sara could come to him.

He was a fool; he had been sad when Debbie had to go away. It had hurt so much when she went away, but it was Debbie leaving that brought those men into his life and they brought Sara. He understood now.

He had understood from the moment he had seen her.

_Of course he had heard about the police detective who had been shot and almost died. His advice had even been sought by one of the surgeons. Considering the delicate nature of the surgery, under other circumstances, he might have volunteered an assist. But he tried to stay away from anything having to do with the LVPD. He didn't want the scrutiny, the possible ramifications if anything should go wrong. Then, when he had heard the detective's name, he had been doubly glad he'd stayed away. No, no, better safe than sorry. His involvement would not have gone unnoticed. He did not want to bring himself to their attention again._

_Of course, no one around the hospital knew what the police suspected of him. Well, was it the entire police department or just the detective and the scientist? Didn't matter. No one in his world believed it. Most of the people around the hospital thought it was just a general interview. No one knew he had been involved with her. And certainly no one knew what he had been accused of that day. _

_So, he knew the police detective was there; moved from ICU to a room right across from the fourth floor nurses station a couple of days after his surgery. He tried to avoid the fourth floor whenever possible, but sometimes, it just was not possible._

_He was writing patient notes at the desk there early one morning when he heard a woman speak to the nurse sitting at the desk, "Excuse me, I know it's a little early," he automatically looked up and forgot to breathe when he looked at her; the woman smiled as she continued speaking to the nurse and his heart started beating again, "but I was hoping I could visit Captain Brass. Or is he still sleeping?" The nurse replied in the negative, saying the patient in question was awake and finishing his breakfast and he would probably appreciate a visitor. _

_She never caught his eye, never fully looked at him, never saw him._

_But he saw her. _

_She gave a light tap on the door with her fingertips and pushed the door to the hospital room open. "Are you up for some company?" she inquired as she fully entered the room, purse slung over one arm, a department store bag in her hand._

_The bed's occupant looked toward the door eagerly, "Sara! Am I glad to see you! There's nobody around this joint as pretty as you." _

_She smiled at him and gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek. He looked washed out in the blue patterned hospital gown as he rest against the institutional white sheets, but he was still here and she was grateful. _

"_Careful there, don't get me too excited, the ticker's been through the ringer lately, can't take too many more jolts."_

_She had laughed as she looked around at the varied size and color of flower arrangements placed on every flat surface in the room. "Careful, Brass, your Jersey is showing."_

"_Yeah, well, these hospital gowns don't leave a lot to the imagination," he stated in an exaggerated New Jersey accent._

_Sara snorted just a little and replied, "Then you should be doubly glad to see me. I brought you something with a little more coverage." From the department store bag she pulled a pair of navy pajamas with light blue piping. "I took the tags off and washed them." She took in his raised eyebrows and half surprised expression. "Brass, please, I know you. I knew you'd hate the gown." She waved the pajamas at him. "And, yes, I figure you more for a boxer and tee-shirt type but the doctors and nurses still need access to those lovely holes in your chest, so, you can suck it up and wear traditional pajamas." _

_By the time she finished he was grinning. "Thanks, doll. But tell me something," he waggled his eyebrows at her, "how much thought have you put into what I wear to bed? Or do you think of what all your co-workers wear to bed?"_

_He received a full snort this time, but she decided to play along. "I figure Nick for traditional pajamas, but bottoms only, so whatever sweet young thing he has over can wear the top half. Warrick probably wears boxer briefs and a tank. Greg, well, Greg I bet wears pajamas," and she grinned, "probably Spiderman pajamas."_

_Brass hooted and then asked with raised eyebrows, "Wouldn't those be more appropriate for Grissom?"_

"_Yeah," she tried for nonchalance, "so not going there." Sara hoped he wouldn't notice the slight blush she could feel staining her cheeks. Grissom, she knew for a sweet fact, wore only boxers to bed and more times than not over the past year, he had gone to sleep completely nude, the boxers discarded somewhere around the room and they had both drifted into slumber, skin on skin. They might sleep spooned together or just holding hands, but always connected, always touching. She never wanted to go back to not touching._

_Deciding it was best to move to safer topics, she pulled the blue padded guest chair as close to the bed as possible. "How are you feeling?"_

"_Not too bad for an old man with a couple of holes in him. I'll be glad when they spring me, though. I want to get home and get back to normal." He sounded just the tiniest bit wistful. "And I'm kinda bored. Daytime TV leaves a lot to be desired and the drugs they still have me on make it really difficult to read."_

_Sara smiled brightly, "Then, in addition to my stimulating CSI sleepwear discussion, you will be even more delighted I came to see you." She reached back into the bag, pulling out a portable DVD player, some headphones and a stack of DVDs. "It also works as a cd player, but I don't know your taste in music. If you'll enlighten me, I'll pick you up some tunes."_

_Brass took in the player and the stack of movies and suddenly found himself swallowing past a huge lump in his throat. "Aw, thanks, hon. You're too much." He lowered his eyes, anything to keep from having to meet her gaze; since waking up he had found his emotions more volatile than he was used to and he was uncomfortable with the emotional rollercoaster he seemed to be on. His eyes swept over the movie titles. "Reservoir Dogs? You hated this one."_

_He looked at the young woman in front of him, truly moved by the gestures and the thoughtfulness behind them. His own daughter couldn't be bothered to visit when he was conscious. Was it him? Was there something missing from him that made him a bad father but an acceptable friend? _

"_I didn't hate it. I just said Pulp Fiction was much better. Besides, you liked it. I brought movies you'd like…I'm fairly sure you won't find a chick flick in that stack." _

_It was his turn to snort. "No Bridget Jones? I'm heart broken."_

"_Yeah, but your surgery was supposed to fix that," she grinned at him._

"_You're a funny girl. Now, tell me what's going on at the lab." Sara filled him in on all the gossip and the less serious cases that had passed through the lab over the past few days. Then, he began yawning and she got up to leave. _

"_Oh! I almost forgot…my car is going in the shop and I'm catching a ride in with Grissom tonight. He said he was going to come by here on the way to the lab, so, I thought I could bring you some real food…what would you like?"_

"_Hey! That would be great, I am kinda sick of the food around here." A sly look came over his face. "What are my chances of getting a Kingburger from the Fatburger over near the MGM Grand?" He duly noted the quirked eyebrow and pursed lips. "What? You object because of your vegetarian status or the theory my heart wouldn't withstand another explosion?" The one quirked eyebrow changed to two drawn together in a rather fierce scowl. "Aw you're cute when you're tryin' to be a bad ass. I ain't scared. But I **am** kidding." He shrugged, "Surprise me."_

_She gave him half of a Sara Smile and kissed his cheek again. Brass lightly patted her cheek and gave her a soft smile as she moved away. "Get some rest. I'll see you tonight," she said as she walked out the door._

_She turned her phone back on as soon as she made it down into the lobby and it began ringing almost immediately. "Sidle," a slight pause, "Oh, hey, Nicky, what's up?" She continued through the lobby. "Yeah, I'm just leaving the hospital." She gave a short laugh into the telephone, "Fat chance, frat boy. I'm headed home for some much needed sleep. I'll run the model for you tonight if it's quiet…no, it's not a problem…yeah, I'll see you tonight." She happily hummed under her breath as she made her way out of the hospital to her car._

_The early morning bustle of patients, families and visitors arriving prevented her from noticing the tall, distinguished man following some distance behind._

He watched her now. He could never get enough of watching her. She was his.

He was a very lucky man.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters. 

A/N: Thanks so much to all of you who have reviewed.

Huge thanks to Nightblight, who took time out of her incredibly busy life to Beta this for me, not once, but twice. If there's something in here you like, she probably either suggested it or tickled it out of my reluctant brain.

* * *

Brass's shoulder and chest were aching from having his arms bound behind his back for hours. The pull on his healing wounds was not comfortable but he was far enough along in the healing process that he felt no damage was being done. It was just uncomfortable and awkward, but coupled with his feelings of powerlessness over this situation his frustration level was going through the roof.

The only respite from the position had been when Lurie had brought them food earlier, something else to drink not long ago and the almost hourly bathroom breaks Sara seemed to require. He knew she hated it, having to ask the doctor for anything, but even someone as stubborn as Sara couldn't resist the changes her body was going through because of her pregnancy. At one point she had grumbled to Brass, "Yeah, they make a big deal about the eating for two; they should really give more warning about the peeing for two."

Lurie had found the easiest way to get one of them to behave was to put his gun to the temple of the other. That was how he allowed them bathroom breaks; he would keep their hands bound as they trooped to the two stall employee restroom and keep the gun very firmly planted above Sara's left ear. Brass wouldn't even consider making any kind of move with the gun in that position. Lurie would untie her hands and train the gun on Brass while Sara used one of the stalls. He would re-tie her hands and repeat the process with Brass. Afterwards, their macabre little parade would wind its way back through the store passing the whole grain cereals and organic canned goods back to the register. He was getting damned tired of having his every move followed by the barrel of a gun.

Her eyes were closed now; she had been quiet since their last trip to the restroom. She seemed pale, but otherwise looked like she was doing all right. He was still studying her face when her eyes opened; she blinked at him several times in rapid succession. "I'm sorry, Brass, I think this whole thing is getting to me," she shook her head lightly as if to clear her brain. "I'm tired and I'm starting to feel a little fuzzy."

Brass felt his anxiety increase a little, but decided to downplay it; there was no need for her to worry unnecessarily. "Yeah, we've been here, what? Seven? Eight hours? Moving back and forth between boredom and life-threatening danger would throw anybody off their game." His voice gentled, "If you think you can go to sleep, maybe you should try to take a nap while things are calm. You can lean your head on my shoulder, if you want."

"No, thanks," she grimaced and shuddered. "It's creepy enough with him staring at me all the time when I'm awake. The idea of him staring at me when I'm asleep just skeeves me out," she shuddered again. The look of distaste on Sara's face as she looked over Brass's shoulder and confirmed the doctor was still on the phone spoke far louder than her words.

A minute or two of silence passed and then she let out a yawn. "I'm bored. Talk to me." She sounded like a spoilt child begging to be entertained.

He blew out a breath, "Talk to you? Talk to you about what? You want me to catch you up on current events in my life?" He began talking quickly in a false cheery tone. "I was shot, which you know. I was in the hospital for three weeks where your visits were the most exciting thing to happen to me. I've been out of the hospital for two and a half days, but you know that because you have been with me the whole time except for two hours this, no, yesterday morning. Oh, and then I was caught in the middle of a shoot-out and have been being held hostage since, oh, wait! You've been here for that, too!" His voice dripped with his trademark sarcasm. "That about catches you up on my life. So, how's by you?"

She was shaking with laughter by the time he finished. "I'm living with my supervisor and we're going to have a baby. Oh, and I was in the middle of a shoot out and I'm being held hostage, too!" Her laughter made it difficult to get the words out in a coherent sentence. She was getting punchy.

"See? It's kismet!" he snarked, "We were meant to be friends! We have so much in common." He gave her a wry look. "Well, except for the whole having sex and procreating with Grissom thing."

Sara laughed harder and he enjoyed every second of her mirth.

After she calmed some, he did that shoulder to shoulder nudge thing that had become their expression of affection and reassurance over the last few hours. "You're going to be a great Mom."

She blinked away the sudden tears his words brought and said, "I hope so. Grissom said the same thing when we talked about having kids." She swallowed hard. "This isn't something I ever thought I'd do, bring a child into the world, not the way I grew up, but with Grissom, when we talked about it…it was just right."

He knew it was none of his business but he was oddly relieved to discover the pregnancy was planned. "So, you're not naming it Oops Grissom?" he quipped with raised eyebrows.

She started laughing again as she shook her head, "No." She looked at his raised eyebrows and shrugged, he really seemed interested. "We thought about Kristen or Elizabeth for a girl and Andrew for a boy, after Grissom's father." She still had trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that Grissom was ready for fatherhood at all.

_He was upfront about his plans from the beginning; ever methodical he had a timeline of the progression of their relationship. After they had been dating for six months they would move in together. Six months to a year after they moved in together they would get married. Of course this meant there were no starry-eyed revelations regarding presentation of keys or marriage proposals. It was settled and decided; he said the time between each step was not because of any uncertainty on his part, it was just time to adjust to each new phase._

_At one point he did apologize for the complete lack of romantic surprises to her, but she just shook her head at him. Ten years of wondering where she stood with him made her appreciate knowing every step in his plan; even then she was sometimes afraid it would all disappear. _

_Then something began happening that totally confused her. After they moved in together he became cavalier about birth control. That unnerved her. She had assumed he would be the one most concerned with preventing a pregnancy. She knew he wanted children; he just had not informed her where on his timeline they fell._

_As had happened so many times with this particular man over the years, she had assumed wrong. He never initiated birth control. If she handed him the condom, he would don it or seem to enjoy her sheathing him. When she had thought perhaps it was condoms he had begun to object to, she began trying spermicides and vaginal contraceptive films. Not as effective as condoms, but still, some had a 94 percent prevention rate with correct application; they were both scientists, they could do correct application. _

_Except he seemed not to care. _

_He would wake her with intense foreplay in the middle of her sleep cycle, leaving her too sleepy and passion addled to think about anything other than getting him into her immediately. Afterwards, he would send her to sleep with little kisses. She loved waking up to his hands and lips caressing her but much later, when she woke to go to work, it would occur to her that they had neglected birth control, again. _

_Tired of worrying about how he would react if she turned up pregnant, she had finally asked him outright, "Don't you care about birth control?" He was lounging across their bed making comments about the things she was folding as she re-organized her lingerie drawer; perhaps it was because her work clothes always had to be so practical, but Sara had a terrible weakness for lingerie, much to Grissom's delight._

_He lifted a lazy shoulder in a half shrug and said, "Not really." _

_In hindsight, she realized the stunned look she gave him must have been singularly unattractive. But at the time, she was just…there was no other word for it, stunned. "But what if I get pregnant?"_

_Again, with the half shrug. "You get pregnant. We have a baby. It's going to happen anyway. Why not now?"_

_OK, what went beyond stunned? "What?"_

"_If you're not ready yet, that's OK. But I don't want to wait too much longer. I'm not getting any younger and I would like to at least see our kids graduate from college," he picked up a pair of pink lace panties and twirled them on one finger, "Why haven't I seen you in these? I'd really like to see you in these…is there a matching bra? Cause I'd really like to see you in it, so I could get you out of it."_

"_What?" Her eyes were so wide they hurt and she could feel herself flushing._

"_I like you in pink," he shyly confessed._

"_What?" She had graduated from Harvard for God's sake; surely she could come up with something better than "what?"_

_His brows drew together in confusion, "I like you in pink?" Then he smiled, "Of course I like you in red and black and that burgundy thing is downright sinful…" _

"_Kids?" A different word, that was good. Still a monosyllable, but different was better._

"_You don't want kids this soon?" He was sitting up with a worried look on his face, "I thought we had talked about this….I mean…didn't you say…you'll make such a great mom…" he stumbled to a halt; confused. They had talked about this._

_She climbed onto the bed and scooted over to be next to him. "Gris, you're serious? You want to have a baby with me? Now? You don't need time to think about it?" _

"_Think about it?" He reached out and brushed an errant lock of hair from her cheek._

"_Yeah, like for ten years or so?"_

"_Hey!" He looked slightly put out at her insinuation._

"_Sorry," she smirked. They had talked about kids in the beginning, but she thought it was something for much further in the future, or some time that he had plotted out on his time table. Her voice became softly serious. "You really want me to be the mother of your child?"_

"_God, Sara, don't you understand?" he shook his head at her in exasperated affection. "There has never been a doubt in my mind about where this would end up…you and me, forever, marriage, babies…that's why I waited so long…you had to be ready for forever. I wouldn't survive if you left." He shook his head again, "Of course I want to have babies with you."_

_The last unsure part of Sara, the part that kept waiting for him to get scared and bolt, unknotted and she smiled at him. "Babies?" she inquired with a cocked eyebrow, emphasizing the plural._

"_Babies," he replied with a nod as he held up three fingers._

_She reached over and lowered his ring finger, leaving two fingers raised. "Babies," she smiled at him. "I love you." She snuggled against him and nuzzled his neck. _

_He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the top of her head. "I love you, too." His large warm hands were stroking down her back. "And I'm not saying we have to try yet, but it's ok if it happens now. Or it's OK to wait…a little bit, anyway. Whatever you want."_

_They lay there for a while, just breathing each other in. After a bit, she stirred. "Gris?"_

"_Hmm?" He rubbed his cheek against her hair._

"_The matching bra is a bustier and there's a garter belt, too." _

_The look he gave her was full of dangerous sensuality; then he smirked. "I'm sorry, Miss Sidle, but I'm going to have to ask you to prove it."_

Brass smiled gently at her. "And Gil will be a good Dad, too."

Sara nodded. "That much I do know." She shook her head, "I've never told you much about the way I grew up, but…" she paused, searching for words, "let's just say, I would only trust myself to have kids with someone like Grissom, someone so steady and true."

Brass nodded, but his expression had turned a little sad. She knew of only one thing that put that forlorn look on his face.

"Brass, you've got to stop blaming yourself for Ellie." He started to shake his head at her, but she continued on. "I know the whole situation was fucked up, but you didn't fuck it up alone. And you have done everything you could to make it right." She nodded at him with a fiercely sincere expression on her face.

"I think it **_is_** my fault," he said in a defeated tone. "I know…I know I didn't do anything on purpose…I tried so hard, but I wonder if maybe I ever made her feel…I dunno…not loved or not wanted because I'm not her real dad."

Sara loudly blew out a breath. "Jeez, Jim, you think you could have done a better job if the two of you shared some DNA? You know that's not true. If you think common alleles are what make you a good parent to your child, then you aren't paying attention." She thought for a moment. "There's no doubt that my dad was my biological father, but I've only seen a handful of times when there was a worse parent than he was. My mom," she shook her head, "she wasn't as bad, but she wasn't a good parent by any means."

She knew he understood the logic of what she was saying, but he didn't believe it on an emotional level. She tried again. "You were **_there_**, Brass. You were there. You know how many kids have to grow up without a father or with one who has revolving door into and out of their life? Ask Warrick. Ask Catherine."

He was fighting tears; he really wanted to believe her, but it had become such an ingrained habit to blame himself for Ellie and her troubles. "Yeah and they both turned out great; maybe no father is better than a bad one."

"If you were a bad person, yeah, maybe so. But you're not a bad person; you're one of the best people I know." He wasn't buying it, she could tell. She was a little surprised at just how good she had gotten at reading him. She sighed. "OK, so say you don't believe me and you're bound and determined to believe you're solely responsible for all of Ellie's problems. At what point does she get to take responsibility for her own life?"

He gave her a blank look, but she continued on in the same voice she used when she was giving an explanation for what a particular piece of evidence meant to a case. "OK, our parents, our environment, the way we're raised all contribute to who we are. But there comes a time when you have to stop blaming your parents and say 'Yeah, OK, I didn't have a great start, but I can do better, I can be better.'" She took a deep breath, "You have to let it go. Quit blaming your mommy for your bad relationships and your daddy for your drug problem. Mom isn't handing out the abuse and Dad isn't putting the crack pipe to your lips. When you can do that, when you can say 'My fault' and 'I was wrong' then you get to stop being a casualty of whatever your childhood tragedies are, you stop being a victim, then you get to be the person you were born to be."

She had finally run out of steam. Her friend was smirking at her.

"What?" she grumbled, slightly embarrassed by her tirade.

"How'd you get to be so smart?"

"Somebody told me to quit rationalizing and helped me see what was wrong with my life was me." She sighed again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go off." She nudged him again. "You know, I might have taken that whole counseling thing too much to heart. But that's what I was doing with the drinking and the anger; I wasn't taking responsibility for my life." She gave a little laugh. "See? There I go again. Sorry!"

"S'ok."

They were quiet for a few minutes. Brass thought about the young woman beside him. She was right, she hadn't told him much about how she had grown up, but from what he knew it had been ugly. Yet, here was Sara. She had graduated from Harvard with honors, she had the best solve rate at the lab. She was funny, compassionate and the strongest person he knew. She had taken the crappy start fate had given her and turned it around to become this amazing woman who did everything she could to help victims instead of being one.

Ellie had started out with some disadvantages, yes, but nothing like what he suspected Sara had been handicapped with, yet, Ellie didn't even seem to try. Well, that wasn't fair…'Rick had said she looked good when she was in Vegas…she looked clean. That was something. Yeah, so she couldn't be bothered to stick around, but she had been here when it counted and she was clean.

It was a start.

He was beginning to think about contacting her if he and Sara made it out of this mess. Maybe he could have one more chance with Ellie and…his spiraling thoughts came to a startled end when Sara suddenly leaned her head against his shoulder. He looked down at her and she blinked at him.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "Is this ok? I just feel so sleepy and a little bit lightheaded."

He cleared his throat, swallowing more tears. It had been years since someone had trusted him enough to lean on him either literally or figuratively. "Sure, it's ok. Are you OK?" This was the second time she said she felt "off;" he didn't want to push her but he really was beginning to become more uneasy. This was Sara; how bad was it if she was admitting it?

"Mmm, yeah, I think it's the lack of sleep, plus the adrenaline rushes and Baby Grissom all just wearing me out. I just need to rest a minute."

He nodded, but he was torn between feeling touched and being worried.

"Brass?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a good Dad."

A single tear did overflow then as he replied, "You're a good kid."

* * *

It wouldn't be so bad if there were more to do, Greg decided. Grissom had sent him to the command center where he had a remote hook-up with Tom Gardner's computer guy.

He wasn't doing anything though. He was just receiving and going over information the guy had managed to hack. The kid was good, too...he had found a ton of information on Lurie and his activities, but Greg just didn't see how any of it was going to help get Sara and Brass out of this situation.

There just wasn't anything they could do except chase paper, wait and depend on the negotiator.

He hated this. He was completely wired, ready to jump out of his skin and the only thing for him to do was read computer printouts.

"Anything new?" Grissom questioned from behind him. Greg hadn't heard him or Nick come in; he looked at both of the men standing behind him, illuminated in the blue-white light of the half dozen computer screens in the enclosed space. Both men were radiating a palpable tension.

"Not much…there's some new financial stuff but none of it looks probative."

"We have to look at all of it, Greg, whether you think it's probative or not" Grissom leaned in and looked first at the computer screen Greg had been scanning, then at the stacks of printouts.

He seemed gruff, even for Grissom. Greg shrugged it off; it was a tense situation, everybody was a little off. Everybody wanted Sara and Brass out of danger.

"Right; I'm going through it all now. If anybody is looking for something to do they can grab a stack, too." His supervisor's mouth was drawn to a thin line, but he nodded as both he and Nick took some of the reports and sat down next to Greg and began looking for something, anything.

After a minute, Nick asked, "Is this all we've got or are we working on more?" A current of frustration was evident under his words.

Greg shook his head…"Gardner's guy is working on hacking into the hospital system. Once he's in he's going to start sending any activity over." He paused a minute, "He's a kid, like nineteen or something. He's completely strange and he's a freakin' genius. I don't doubt if there's anything out there this guy is going to find it."

Nick huffed, "That's good, but I honestly don't see how any of this is going to help. What possible good could any of this do in getting Sara out of there?" He was making notes on the pages he had been given, gripping the pencil so tightly his fingers were white and the pencil was in danger of snapping.

Greg shrugged his shoulders as he circled some numbers. "I don't know either. He killed somebody; it's been, like eight hours and he's not any closer to giving himself up. Why don't they just storm the building and take the guy out?"

The Texan shook his head, "That's dangerous for the hostages…they can get hit in the crossfire or Lurie could panic and hurt them before SWAT gets in there." He could not bring himself to use the word "kill".

Both of the younger men noticed Grissom was completely silent during their exchange.

"Isn't that what tear gas is for?" Greg asked as he continued to study the papers in front of him, "To incapacitate the assailant so they won't hurt hostages during a siege?"

"That's what I thought," Nick said, his voice held a note of puzzlement. "But I heard one of the SWAT guys saying they couldn't use tear gas in this case."

"That doesn't make sense," Greg responded. "Why couldn't they?"

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, Grissom thought. There was supposed to be a quiet wedding and a small reception with their friends and during the celebration they would let the people that meant the most to them know that they were having a baby. They had talked about it and he had envisioned it dozens of times…Sara standing next to him, smiling at him, loving him and they didn't have to hide any more.

Well, there was no hiding anymore no matter how he had envisioned it. He felt a wave of sadness wash over him at the realization that Lurie had ruined something he and Sara had been looking forward to. He shoved the sadness behind his mask and reminded himself all that mattered was getting Sara and Brass out safely.

"Sara's pregnant," Grissom stated matter-of-factly, never looking up from the papers he was studying "and there have been a few instances of pregnant women miscarrying with use of tear gas. Nichols doesn't want to take the risk."

Silence.

After about thirty seconds, Nick said a terse, "Excuse me" and Grissom looked up to see the young CSI exiting the RV.

He turned to look at Greg who was staring back at him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. "Sara? Pregnant?" He blinked rapidly several times. "Sara?"

Grissom drew in a long breath and released it slowly. "Yes, Greg."

"But…Who? I mean…Sara? Pregnant?"

Grissom nodded, tiredly. "Yes, Greg." And he bent back over his papers discouraging Greg from further comment or question about Sara's pregnancy. He would give Nick a minute or two to collect himself; then he would go talk to him.

* * *

Nick Stokes had a secret, something nobody in the world knew. Sometimes he thought Warrick might suspect, but most times he thought his secret was safe.

As he rushed out of the SWAT vehicle he felt every bit of the years of keeping that secret oozing out of his pores, rolling off of him in waves. He knew that if he stayed in there another minute that the other two men would know what he had come to admit to himself a long time ago…

Nick Stokes was in love with Sara Sidle.

He pushed away from the group of cops and SWAT members surrounding the command post and gave a distracted nod to Warrick and Catherine who were quietly going over interview notes with Vartan. He walked quickly over to a far corner of the parking lot and began pacing energetically back and forth between two of the CSI SUVs.

It had not been love at first sight. He had always thought she was attractive, smart and funny. And quite obviously head over heels in love with their supervisor.

He had just thought of her as a co-worker, then a friend. They would hang out, go to breakfast, and sometimes go for drinks. She'd tease him about the parade of women in his life and he'd tease her about having no life. He was continually amazed at how damned smart she was and he found himself wanting to be with her more and more, and it scared him.

Nothing momentous precipitated his realization that he was in love with her; she just looked at him one day over the evidence table and gave him one of her smirky, pursed lip smiles and he had the strongest urge to kiss that smirk right off of her face. By the time he realized he had feelings for her, he had it bad; he felt like a cartoon character that had had an anvil dropped squarely on his head.

He was trying to figure out what to do, how to approach her but there was the thing with Hank, then the promotion and Grissom, always Grissom.

All of it was hard on her; he thought of that time as Sara's dark days. He could only try to be her friend, but competing for the promotion had put a strain on their friendship which was ironic, because part of the reason he had applied for the promotion was to get her to see him differently. He hadn't thought he would be competing with her for it. But he hung on and kept being the best friend he could be, always thinking maybe someday they could be more. Sara seemed to want to try to move past it, too and seemed to make as much of an effort as he had to preserve their friendship.

Things were almost back to normal between them when Walter Gordon had buried him alive. He had thought of everything when he was in that box. How if he got another chance he wasn't going to wait any more, she was going to know how he felt.

After he got out of the hospital, his parents took him home to Dallas to recover. He flew back to Vegas on an early morning flight a week before he was due back to work and drove straight from the airport to Sara's apartment knowing he would probably catch her just coming off of shift. He was desperate to see her, to talk to her. He had done nothing but think…in the hospital, at his parents' house…trying to think of the thing to say that would make her give him a chance to be more than her friend.

He had been waiting a little over a half an hour when her car pulled into the lot, followed closely by Grissom. As they were exiting their cars, Nick had wondered briefly if there was some special case that caused Grissom to follow her home or if they were in the middle of one of their blow-ups and then watched, mouth agape, as Grissom hugged her lightly. Sara had smiled up at him and said something that made the older man grin as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Then, hand in hand they had turned and headed into her building.

Nick had watched, dazed, his brain trying to process what he had seen. Sara and Grissom were **_together. _**

He wanted to be happy for them. It was what Sara had wanted for years. She deserved to get everything she wanted. Nick couldn't even resent Grissom too much; yeah, the guy could be an ass, but he was a good man and as long as he was good to Sara, Nick would try to be happy for them, but he felt as though his insides were slowly being eaten away by acid. He had a constant ache in his chest and his stomach always felt as if the bottom of it had dropped out.

He tried to move on, but there were days he would drive by her apartment just to see if Grissom's car was there. Sometimes it was, sometimes neither car was there and Nick, hating himself, would find himself driving past the night supervisor's townhouse to see Sara's car there. He didn't know why he did it; maybe to be close to her? To know she was safe? To remind himself what a fool he was for waiting too long?

One such time, he saw a for sale sign at the townhouse and in the weeks that followed when Sara began scavenging for empty boxes and reading decorating magazines in the break room he knew they had gotten a place together. He hadn't slept for two days after he figured it out. Sara even teased him about being so grumpy, _"Got a new girl that's keeping you from sleeping, Nicky? Tell her to let you get a little rest so we don't have to hurt your cranky butt." _

It had been oddly bittersweet. He could see she was happy and that made him happy. He still yearned for her, but her happiness was more important than anything to him. That's why he had never been able to feel bitter towards Grissom.

At least not until this moment. Her life was in danger. A madman was holding her hostage and the man who is supposed to love her the most can calmly announce she's pregnant as if he were announcing the prints on a piece of evidence were latent or a DNA search turned up nothing. God, it burned him up; he wanted to put his fist through Grissom's face.

Nick kicked the tire of the nearest county SUV and desperately wished for a wall to punch.

"Nick?" Grissom's voice sounded harsh to his ears.

He turned to find him standing a few feet from him, holding a piece of paper, a question in his eyes.

Nick breathed in and tried to suppress his anger. "Yeah?"

"The tow truck is on its way to get Lurie's car. I'd like you to go back to the lab and process it," he held out the impound order to the younger man.

Nick snatched the paper from his supervisor's hand, "Yeah, fine."

Grissom's eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. "Is there a problem here, Nick?" he questioned sharply.

Nick scowled, "No, no problem other than Sara and Brass are in there with that psycho and you're treating it just like any other case."

Tightly pursing his lips, the senior CSI pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to maintain his composure. "What do you want me to do, Nick?" He was hanging on to his temper by a thread.

"I don't know! But this, looking for evidence that may not even exist, that isn't going to do a damned thing to get her out of there. What good is any of this doing? And then you can just casually announce she's pregnant, like its nothing…doesn't any of this mean anything to you? You live with her, you're supposed to care about her…you're just acting like the evidence is all that matters," he spat the words at Grissom who had shown very little surprise at Nick's knowledge of his living arrangements.

Grissom gathered what little patience he had and tried to defuse the situation before they both did damage that couldn't be repaired, "Look, Nick, I know how you feel about Sara…" The look on his face was one of both resignation and sympathy.

His face crimson with anger, Nick exploded, "Don't you even begin to tell me you have any idea about my feelings for Sara! The hell you do!"

"The hell I don't" Grissom roared and suddenly Nick found himself backed against the SUV with a very angry Gil Grissom in his face, "What do you want me to do, Nick? You want me to scream and cry and breakdown? How in the hell do you think that's going to help get her out of there? How's that going to help anything?" He leaned in closer and Nick's eyes widened as he saw the raw anger and fear breaking through the cracks in Grissom's emotional walls. "If there's a chance any piece of evidence exists that's going to help us know what he's planning or what's going through his head I want to find it, because it might be the difference between her living through this and her dying you're damned right I care about the evidence."

His anger left him suddenly and his shoulders slumped slightly as he took a breath and when he spoke again, his voice was much calmer. "Nick, I know you love her." The younger man's eyes widened in shock and Grissom's mouth twisted in a dark smirk, "You think I could love her all those years and not spot the same thing in someone else?" He heaved a huge sigh and moved to lean up against the SUV beside the other man. When he spoke again it was some with some hesitancy, "I, ah, always thought…I was afraid I was going to lose her to you. I thought one of these days she would look at you and see how perfect you were for her and she'd give up on me. And I wouldn't have been able to blame her."

Nick shook his head and cleared his throat, "You know Sara; she just doesn't give up."

"I thank the powers that be for that every single day, Nicky. Every single day."

"Look, Gris, I'm sorry, I…" he shook his head and tried to swallow his tears but they overflowed anyway.

Grissom put a conciliatory hand on the other man's shoulder. "It's OK…we…ah, it's a tense situation and everybody just wants to see Brass and Sara out of there safely." His voice was a little more stern when he added, "Nick, I love her, I am going to marry her. She is the mother of my child. Don't ever think I don't care…if looking for evidence is all I can do, it's what I am going to do. You can help or not…if it's too much for you, I can get someone else."

Nick thought of second chances and how he had thought he had one with Sara when he got out of that box. Now he knew what he needed was one more chance to see Sara happy before he let go. One more chance to move on and know that she was safe and content.

"I want to help," Nick nodded.

"Good. The tow truck should be…" he was interrupted by the sound of Greg yelling his name. Grissom watched as the young CSI came barreling across the parking lot towards them followed by Catherine and Warrick.

"Grissom! Chad hacked the hospital system and shadowed Lurie's activity over the last couple of days," Greg began speaking at a lightening pace even before he reached them, waving a printout at Grissom. "You need to see this," he panted as he handed the papers to his supervisor.

Grissom pulled his glasses out of his pocket and began studying the papers, paling as he did so, "Nick," he said urgently, "go find Ben Nichols. We've got to get Sara out of there now."

* * *

Sara had fallen into an uneasy sleep against Brass's shoulder; having her hands behind her back made it awkward. She would fall asleep then her head would slip from his shoulder and she would come to a jerky wakefulness.

He wasn't sure but she seemed feverish to him. He was really starting to worry about her. She slipped again and grumbled. He hated asking the same thing over and over, but he needed the reassurance from her, "You OK, Hon?"

"Yeah," she mumbled and tried to reposition herself on his shoulder.

He said in a soothing tone, "Sara, just lay down. You can rest your head on my leg."

She mumbled something and did an awkward twist and slide movement and ended with her cheek on his thigh just above his knee and drew her legs in towards her chest. "Don't let him watch me sleep," she muttered just before she closed her eyes.

He huffed out a small laugh, "Sure, OK." Like he could stop that from happening.

Then he watched as she settled and sank into sleep. He breathed a little easier; maybe she would feel better after she got some sleep. It couldn't possibly hurt.

Brass looked around again; Lurie wasn't on the phone this time. He was pacing around the main aisle of the store, gun in one hand, phone in the other. He would stop periodically and just stand, looking blank, as if he were waiting for something.

Not very inspiring in Brass's opinion.

He looked down at Sara; it looked like she was out for the count. Good. He hoped she was comfortable enough. He looked at how she was positioned, to see if there was some way to make her more comfortable.

That's when he saw the blood.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, but I have some of the DVDs.

A/N: Thanks to Nightblight, who took time out of her incredibly busy life to Beta this for me. She continues to enrich my writing with every chapter. She is the best!

* * *

Dark crimson smears stained the tile floor in thick swaths where Sara had been sitting just minutes before.

Brass's heart was thudding in his ears; his first instinct was to wake her, but he stopped himself. If he woke her what would she do? What could he do? What good would it do her to know…He was torn between calling her back to consciousness and letting her rest in peaceful oblivion.

An overwhelming wave of guilt washed over Brass with an accompanying feeling of nausea. What if he had done this, what if it was his fault? Maybe if he hadn't tackled her when Lurie and the store manager had begun shooting at each other, this wouldn't be happening.

If she was bleeding, did it automatically mean she was losing the baby? He searched his memory for everything he could remember from when his ex had been pregnant with Ellie…not that he had been the most attentive father-to-be but it was the only time he had been close to a pregnant woman. He had a memory of her calling him, frantic, on her way to her doctor's office because she was spotting, but it had turned out to be nothing; she was fine, Ellie was fine. He couldn't help the brief press of guilt within his chest; he never paid all that much attention to something he now realized was so very important.

But the blood on the floor looked like a lot more than just spotting to him.

He had to get her help. He had to get her out of here.

"Lurie," he called out. Aiming his voice over his shoulder towards where the doctor was standing, he was careful not to jostle Sara's head where it rested on his thigh. He tried to keep his panicked voice loud enough to be heard, but low enough not to startle Sara awake.

He and the doctor had had very little conversation over the preceding hours. Lurie only wanted to speak to Sara and any discussion with Brass seemed to agitate him. Years of being in volatile situations during his career had taught the seasoned detective to do as little as possible to aggravate any unstable element, so he had not tried to engage the man after the first few abortive attempts. Now, though he had no choice; no matter how unpredictable Lurie was Brass was determined to get Sara the help she needed.

As the doctor approached and caught sight of Sara's head in the older man's lap, his expression darkened ominously. Brass quickly tried to alleviate his obvious jealousy by beginning his plea. "She's bleeding; she said a couple of times over the last hour or so she didn't feel right." He was surprised at how emotional he sounded…his voice was trembling and full of supplication. "Please, let her go. You said you love her, here's your chance to prove it. I'll stay, but she needs to get to the hospital." He could feel his heart thrumming in his head, pounding in desperation to get this man, this highly dangerous and delusional man, to agree to the one thing he most definitely did not want to do.

The surgeon dropped down onto his haunches beside his captives. First he studied the blood on the floor, then Sara's face. When he reached out and stroked a loose tendril off of one pale cheek, Brass found himself grinding his teeth in an effort not to yell at the doctor. He didn't want the maniac near her.

Lurie's face had a look of absolute reverence on it as he stroked his fingers along her jawbone, first palm side down, then with the back of his hand. He pushed some wisps of hair back from over her eyes and lightly touched her forehead. Finally, he spoke, his voice slow and slightly pensive, "Don't worry about it, Captain Brass. It's just the medicine I gave her. It's taking effect."

Brass fought the anger and revulsion that rose in him as he watched the doctor touching Sara's face. "Medicine?" He felt a sudden cold clarity. He cursed himself for being such a fool.

The tea, _the damned tea_. The crazy bastard had done something to the tea.

He felt as if his insides had turned to ice and he was radiating cold from his center outward. Before, whenever Brass had experienced rage it had come as a white hot wave…but this, this was colder than anything he had ever experienced. He felt as if he was breathing out frigid air and his breath should be blue.

"You poisoned her," Brass stated flatly. "You sick son of a bitch; you poisoned her." Jim Brass was not a violent man by nature; he had been responsible for the deaths of two people in his years on the force and he carried those deaths with him as daily sorrows. He never wanted to be responsible for taking a life, but right now, in this moment, if he could, he would murder Vincent Lurie with his bare hands and happily bathe in his blood.

Lurie laughed lightly. "Poisoned? No, I would not poison my love, my Sara." He nearly crooned the endearments. "I just gave her some medicine to help solve our problem. She'll be fine in a few days."

"You're trying to kill her baby." Brass swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat as his mind was moving at a frenetic pace. Was it too late? Was there an antidote? Was Sara in danger from what the doctor had given her? What could he say to the twisted physician to get him to let her go? "She wants this baby…she's going to hate you for this."

The doctor shook his head. "She can still have a baby; just not his baby. As soon as she recovers we'll begin anew and start our own family." He never removed his eyes from Sara's face, watching his fingers as they stroked back and forth over her cheek.

Brass swallowed the words of fury that were fighting to get out. The idea of Sara being forced to endure whatever this psycho had in mind left him barely able to think. He breathed in, "Untie me so I can take care of her."

The doctor shook his head. "She's fine…she'll be fine," he amended.

The detective snorted. "You don't know Sara. If she wakes up and sees this blood, she's not going to be fine and neither are you. She will fight you every step of the way for every minute of the rest of your miserable life if she finds out you knew she was bleeding and didn't do something to help." He looked at Sara again. "How do you know she's going to be OK? That looks like a lot of blood to me. How can you be sure she'll be fine?"

Lurie's gaze flickered briefly from the woman's face over to Brass, then back. "There's nothing that can be done, even if I wanted to."

"Yeah, buddy, I get what you want and don't want," even though he was trying to be conciliatory, he couldn't seem to help the sarcasm. He shook himself, "Look, she doesn't ever have to know you were responsible…she can think it was the stress or me throwing her down, whatever. But she doesn't need to see all of this blood," he looked over at the scarlet smears on the floor; even now he could see more blood beginning to accumulate where Sara was resting. He could see the stains soaking through her jeans in dark and wet splotches.

Jesus, it looked like a lot of blood; he fought his fear and the churning feeling in his stomach. "Untie me so I can clean this up and make her more comfortable…I swear I won't try anything." The doctor was staring at him intently now, so Brass pulled out all the stops; his face became solemn and he allowed the tears that had been threatening to accumulate in his eyes and despite his instinct to do the opposite he didn't try to hide the tremble in his voice. "I swear, man, I won't do anything but help her…she's like a daughter to me; you gotta let me help her."

Lurie chewed on his lip as he studied the police captain; after a few minutes he nodded. "There are some hand towels in the deli area and a blanket in the manager's office. I'll go get them." He stood. "When I come back, I'll let you tend to her. Then Captain Brass, you're going to make a phone call for me."

With a slow, measured pace he walked away and Brass blew out a deep breath. First problem solved, Lurie would untie him. Now he just had to figure out how to get the gun away from him and get Sara out of harm's way.

* * *

"What is it?" Catherine was only one notch down from screaming. "What did he find?"

"Mifepristone," Grissom said in a monotone. He allowed numbness to wash over him; better that than the crippling terror that threatened.

"RU-486? What about it?" the blonde addressed Grissom but she had reached out to clutch Greg's upper arm, confusion written on her face.

The young CSI looked at Catherine. "Lurie removed 4 doses of Mifepristone from the hospital's supply earlier today, uh, yesterday. He also signed out one dose of Misoprostol and filled three prescriptions in Sara's name; one for a generic sedative, one for Vicodin and another for Coumadin."

"What?" Warrick looked from Greg to Grissom "I get the sedative and the Vicodin but why the other stuff?" He thought he knew what the drugs were, but that didn't make any sense.

"He's planning on performing a medication abortion on her," Grissom rubbed a hand over his face and tried to slow his heart rate; the fright clinging coldly to his insides him made that nearly impossible.

"What!" Catherine's hand gripped Greg's arm so tightly he winced. "But Sara's not…" she looked at Grissom's expression and brought her other hand to cover her mouth, gasping through the splayed fingers, "Oh, my God…Gil…did you know?"

"Dr. Grissom?" Ben Nichols was approaching the group quickly, accompanied by Nick and Vartan. "Stokes says you have some new information."

"Gardner's computer guy managed to get into the hospital system. Lurie signed out several doses of the primary drug used in medication abortion and one dose of the secondary. He also filled prescriptions in Sara's name for a sedative, a painkiller and a blood thinner." The senior CSI took a shaky breath and looked down at the pharmacy reports still clutched in his slightly trembling hand. "I think we need to take whatever steps necessary to..."

Nichols waved a hand in Grissom's direction, "I'm sorry, Dr. Grissom. I'm not a medic or a scientist. I'm just a cop with a couple of fancy titles. I need you to spell the whole thing out for me, so I see the complete picture." Grissom started to object, but Nichols shook his head. "I know it's urgent, believe me; but I have to know everything you know, so I can see all of the angles and possible ramifications." The negotiator was an expert at reading people and he knew the CSI was fighting an emotional battle to maintain control but he could barely detect any outward sign. He looked at the group surrounding the scientist and wondered if any of them understood what the man was grappling with.

Grissom took a deep breath and then released it. When he spoke again it was in his teacher's voice. "Mifepristone, also known as RU-486, is used in conjunction with Misoprostol. Mifepristone is generally administered in a clinic or hospital under a doctor's supervision. It blocks progesterone causing the fetus to detach from the uterus, softens the cervix, thins the uterine lining and often causes uterine contractions. When the patient leaves the doctor's office they are given a dose of Misoprostol to self administer between 24-72 hours after ingesting the Misoprostol. This second drug causes severe uterine contractions, expelling the fetus approximately 95 percent of the time." Grissom nearly choked on the clinical words coming out of his mouth. Fetus? He wasn't talking about a fetus, he was talking about his and Sara's baby.

He drew another breath and looked at the negotiator to make sure he was following, at Nichols' nod, he continued, "This same regimen had been used in France for quite a few years before being approved for use in the United States. When the FDA was testing the drug for approval in the US the studies showed that roughly 60 percent of the time administration of Mifepristone alone would cause spontaneous abortion. That percentage was not considered acceptable, of course and the traditional regimen of the two drugs together was approved."

Nichols nodded. "So, you were right earlier. He must have followed her to the doctor and discovered the pregnancy. That was what set him off. But why get multiple doses of the first drug, but only one of the second?"

The others watched the exchange with an air of apprehension and tension.

Grissom frowned. "The contractions caused by the Misoprostol can be extremely violent. She wouldn't be able to travel after taking it, so that would hinder his plans to take her out of the country. Maybe he thought multiple doses of the Mifepristone would increase the chances of…" it suddenly occurred to him this was Sara and their baby he was talking about. **_His family._** What if it was already too late? What if Lurie overdosed Sara? He suddenly felt as if his legs were going to give out. From the moment Ecklie had told him what was going on he had been terrified for Sara and the baby. Any number of things could happen to them, there were all sorts of undefined dangers that they could be exposed to, but now he had an idea of what Lurie planned to do and his fear blossomed from a nebulous feeling to a certain cold aching dread. There just didn't appear to be an end to this nightmare. He shook his head, unable to continue.

Nichols face softened as he saw the man sway minutely; he was so controlled for the most part he rarely betrayed he was personally involved. "Dr. Grissom, I know this is difficult for you. I do appreciate the information." He thought for a moment, strumming his fingers against his thigh. "OK, the sedative would be to keep her calm and the painkiller is obvious, especially if he planned to use the secondary medication. Why the blood thinner?"

Greg spoke up hesitantly, at first, "Uh, Chad included some of the information about the drugs. Blood thinners are contraindicated with Mifepristone." He was gaining confidence as he spoke. "If his goal is to initiate a spontaneous abortion without using the Misoprostol, the use of blood thinner would increase the bleeding which would increase the chance of..." He stumbled to a halt, unable to complete the sentence.

Jesus. Sara was pregnant. He didn't even know she was seeing anybody; she could be intensely private but if it was serious enough they were having a baby, surely she would have introduced the guy to her friends? Sara wasn't the type to just hook up with some random guy and never see him again. What if the guy had dumped her because she was pregnant? If he found out who the guy was, he would personally pound him. He wondered if Grissom knew who it was; Grissom had known she was pregnant.

Greg shook himself out of his thoughts and continued, "But the two should never be taken together. If he gives her both, he's not only endangering the pregnancy, he's endangering Sara."

The looks on both Grissom and Nick's faces could only be described as a combination of nauseated and horrified while Catherine and Warrick both looked as if they were trying to shake off their shock and catch up.

Greg took a breath and looked at Nichols, "Grissom is right; you've got to get them out of there."

Nichols digested the latest information and looked at Grissom. "Why now? Why would he give her the pills in there? Wouldn't he wait until he got her away from here? I just don't want to move too fast or do the wrong thing if we're not relatively certain they're in danger right now."

Grissom had lost all of his color as the answer suddenly came to him. "The efficacy of the regimen decreases after seven weeks of pregnancy. If he accessed her medical records as I suspect, he would know she's seven weeks today. That's what caused the panic and the rash behavior," he swallowed and continued hoarsely, "He was out of time."

Nichols looked steadily at Grissom; "You understand the risk of using tear gas?"

Grissom nodded. "Considering the possible alternatives tear gas is the better risk."

Nichols pressed his closed fist to his mouth and tapped it against his lips as he thought. "It's still not my favorite option. If the assailant isn't at the front of the store when the tear gas comes through the windows it could give him enough time to harm the hostages before we can get to him." He shrugged, "I guess we don't really have a choice…it'll take about…" the beeping of the negotiator's phone caused him to pause; he read off the text message. "He's on the phone. Let me see if I can improve our odds." He jerked his head towards the command vehicle as he began striding away. "You're welcome to come along Dr. Grissom."

Not looking back, Grissom and Vartan both hurried after him.

Catherine stared at Nick and Greg with wide eyes. "Did you two know? That she was pregnant?" Her voice was full of accusation.

Greg was shaking his head, "Not until a little while ago…Grissom told us that's why they didn't want to use tear gas."

"Man, this is messed up," Warrick nearly moaned in his frustration. "I didn't even know she was seeing anybody." His eyes fell on Nick.

Misinterpreting Warrick's look, Catherine instinctively honed in on Nick, "Do you know anything you're not telling?"

Nick shook his head at her, "Leave it, Cath."

She pounced. "You do know! Who is she seeing? Have they been called?" Catherine grabbed his arm demandingly.

Nick sighed. "Really, Cath, none of that is important right now. Just leave it." He caught Warrick eyeing him speculatively, asking a silent question and Nick shook his head slowly, sadly in answer. No, the baby wasn't his. Sara wasn't his.

* * *

Sara was not quite asleep, not quite dreaming. But things were fuzzy.

She heard snippets of conversations in broken snatches, like a radio conversation with bad reception.

"…shoot you without…"

"…so much blood? Are you…"

"…any pain…as bad as…"

"…her go…promise...any trouble…"

"…worse than…fine"

"…not good…needs help…"

She heard the words, but she was having trouble making processing them. She decided not to try to make sense of them. Instead, she decided she lose herself in thoughts of Grissom.

When she was nine, her brother had told her that human beings only used ten percent of their brains. Even then, as young as she was, that made no sense to her. Why would we have something that big and important and not use all of it?

They had just studied a little bit about evolution in her science class and she had, as usual, gone to the local library and checked out some books on evolution. So, the whole only using 10 percent of our brains? Nope, didn't fit in with evolution. If we had something we didn't need, she reasoned, it would have evolved out of us. She was certain of this with all the intellect and reasoning of an adult and the complete assurance of a precocious little girl.

Besides, her brain was always humming, connecting dots, proposing theories, always thinking, never quiet; there was no way all of that noise and movement came from only 10 percent of what was in her head.

Of course, later she learned it was a fallacy. Human beings use 100 percent of their brains; the 10 percent myth was born of a misunderstanding and perpetuated to suit the agenda of psychics and those who needed an explanation for the unexplainable. Though science doesn't lie, scientists sometimes do.

She felt vindicated; she knew she used all of her brain, she knew there was no unexplored region inside her head.

She was certain of that up until Gil Grissom kissed her.

That first day on her sofa, his first few kisses had been tentative, chaste presses of mouths. The press and slide of his lips against hers, slightly wet, very soft with the slight whisper of his beard occasionally against the edge of her mouth were gentle beginnings. Each subsequent kiss deepened, became an ever more thorough exploration of her lips, tongue and mouth.

After sometime she became aware that her body was prone on her couch with Grissom's body pressing her into the cushions, both of their hands were exploring as much as they could reach through and under clothes with gentle curiosity and shy tenderness.

That was what her body was doing…what her mind was doing was something different. Every time he deepened a kiss, she felt her body respond but her mind went completely black, consumed by the pleasure of his lips molding themselves to hers, his tongue exploring and tasting her, and his hands on her flushed skin. After a while she was aware of a depth to the blackness, and it deepened with each kiss. She felt like she was hurtling through space surrounded by warmth, her mind accelerating past stars that had never been charted, careening towards the intersection of infinity and eternity and it was all there in her brain released into her consciousness by Grissom's kisses.

It was always like that when he kissed her passionately. He could caress her and quote Shakespeare and other poets, but the only poetry she ever offered him was that first day, after experiencing the heady sensation, eyes half closed, lips swollen from his kisses, spoken in a husky whisper against his skin, "Gris…kiss…bliss." He had answered her with a gentle smile and another passionate kiss.

She felt the blackness in her brain now. But it wasn't the ecstatic blackness of Grissom kisses. There were no stars, there was no warmth.

She knew she wasn't doing well. She could feel her baby's life slipping away from her and a part of her brain was crying out in emotional agony at the loss…but that was distant…so distant. She shivered.

She was cold. She felt as if there were frigid fingers of icy cold clawing their way through her belly.

Shock, her objective mind supplied for her somewhere beyond the blackness. Yes, she was probably going into shock.

Was she dying? She wasn't sure. It would probably be easy to do right now…just stop trying and float away. The question flitted through her mind unbidden, if she floated away would it be warmer there?

Yes, yes, she was sure of it…always before the blackness was warm, if she floated away could she find the warmth? The warmth was good. Warmth meant…

Grissom! Her mind forced the reality on her through the blackness. She couldn't leave Grissom. No, no, no.

It would hurt him too much. No, she had to stay, she couldn't go. He loved her, she couldn't leave him. She loved him, too. She didn't want to leave him. She had to stay; she had to fight the blackness, fight for Grissom and the life they had found together.

She couldn't float into the blackness. It was not bliss, not this time.

She needed help - somebody to help her fight the blackness.

There was someone else…she had heard voices. She knew one of the voices, it was a good voice, good friend. Who was it? Why couldn't she think right? Everything was just so damned hazy, nothing was clear.

A good friend. Good as gold, her disoriented mind provided. Gold was metal, metal was good…

Brass. Yes, it was Brass; he was there with her. Brass. Good, she assured herself through the fog in her head.

She had to ask Brass to help her. He would help her if she asked, she just had to ask.

She sucked at asking for help. She always had.

"Too damned independent," her father had always said. She had often wondered if she had asked for help from somebody…a teacher, a neighbor, the ER nurse, anybody, would it have helped? Would the escalation of violence have stopped? Would her father be alive? Would her mother and brother still be a part of her life?

If she had asked for help would she have started drinking so much? If she had asked for help would her anger have escalated to the point of hurting her relationship with Catherine and her career?

She knew not asking for help when she needed it had hurt her. She was smart. She could learn the lesson. She **had** learned the lesson. She was trying to change.

She just needed one more chance now; one more chance to show she had learned her lesson.

The blackness was pulling her in, consuming her. She had to fight, but she needed help.

Struggling, she opened her eyes and saw Brass' craggy, worried face in front of her. She made a huge effort and tried to breathe deeply so she could speak.

So cold. Another shiver shook her frame.

"Sara?" Brass' voice was full of anxiety, but it grounded her and chased back the blackness.

She was finally able to move her stiff and pale lips, "Help me."

She watched with distant fascination as tears began streaming down Brass' cheeks, his voice an odd mixture of reassurance and pain. "You bet, Doll. I'm all over it."

Sara sighed. She had asked for help. It wasn't too late; she had gotten one more chance.

* * *

As soon as they entered the command vehicle, Nichols snapped on a headset and nodded to another of his team members who then flipped a switch starting the recording equipment and broadcasting the call throughout the vehicle. He was in his element here; 100 percent competent and steady.

"Dr. Lurie? You ready to talk to me some more? Maybe we can work something out this time." As he was speaking he was directing the attention of the other men to a video monitor of the front windows of the store where a tall, faint shadow showed through on one of the advertising posters.

The doctor's smooth, cultured voice filled the space. "That would be a pleasant development. My request is the same; a car with a full tank of gas and no tracking devices, unhindered passage to the Mexican border. I'll release Captain Brass as soon as we cross the border."

"Now, doctor, you know, I can't…"

Lurie ruthlessly interrupted Nichols. "I know you **can**." There was a slight pause and they watched the shadow on the monitor move away. "I thought perhaps you might like the good detective's opinion of the matter."

There was another pause and the sound of the cell phone changing hands. "This is Jim Brass. Who am I speaking with?" Grissom and Vartan had both straightened at the sound of Brass's voice; despite the evenness of his tone there was an undercurrent of urgency to his voice.

"Captain Brass, Ben Nichols here. How are we doing in there?"

"I'm fine, but Sara's not doing so good." As Brass' voice floated through the room Grissom moved beside Nichols. The negotiator could almost feel the tension vibrating off of him. "You need to give the doctor whatever the hell he wants; this situation can't continue the way it is." He obviously couldn't speak freely with Lurie listening, but he was letting them know the time for caution had passed. They had to do something **now** damnit!

Nichols drew in a deep breath. "Tell the doctor his car will be out front in ten minutes." His tone was a warning to Brass to be alert and ready to move out of the line of fire.

He heard the call disconnect from the other end, then began barking orders as his team jumped into action. "Robertson, get the vehicle in place and alert the ambulances; we have a 35 year old pregnant female in some sort of distress; have them alert the hospital. Smith, roll out a police line 100 feet from the front of the store and get everybody back behind it. Everybody else get your gear and move to positions. Sharp shooters on the roof get first crack, if you don't have a kill shot, use the radio and give one of the ground guys a chance at it. Let's move!"

Grissom stood back and watched the exploding activity around him with a sense of dread. Everything he had been afraid of from the beginning was happening. Sara was losing the baby, Sara was in trouble. God, what if it was too late?

He had confidence in Ben Nichols and his men, but they didn't know what all Lurie had given her, what he had done to her. What if she was dying?

What if the sniper's bullet went wrong and hit her instead? What if despite their best efforts the mad doctor actually got her into the car…how would they free her then?

His thoughts were a maelstrom of fear and wretchedness. There was nothing he could do this time to influence the outcome.

"Grissom?" Vartan's voice brought him back from the furor of his thoughts. "We need to get into position if you want to observe."

Grissom looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What?"

Vartan's looked at him with sympathy. "It's time."

* * *

Sara knew she needed to stay awake but it was very hard. She was so cold; if she went to sleep she might not feel so cold.

Something was different. She opened her eyes and saw her own hands. Wait…hadn't her hands been tied behind her before? Yes, she was sure they had. She was untied. That was good.

"Sara?" Brass's low, gravelly voice pierced her brain fog.

She looked up at him and blinked several times. "Yeah?"

"How are you doing, kiddo?" His dark eyes were anxiously searching her face.

"Cold," was all she could manage to mumble.

She heard him sigh and felt him shift her so she was cradled against his side with his arm around her. It did not warm her but it did keep the cold from penetrating more.

Her eyes fell back to her hands where they rested in her lap. There was blood on her hands, blood on her jeans. She nodded to herself; even through the murkiness in her brain she had understood she was bleeding. The distant part of her that was not muddled and hazy was dreadfully alarmed and horribly grieved, but that part of her was too far away and Sara was too tired and cold to think about it much.

Her head felt so heavy as she raised it to look at Brass again. One word was all she could muster, but he understood it was a question. "Help?"

"It's on the way. We're gonna get you out of here in just a few minutes, OK?"

Numbly, she nodded. Her earlier thoughts circled back around in her cloudy mind. She sighed. "Brass good."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters, but I do dream about William Petersen on a regular basis.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I am now a Review Ho'...thanks for feeding my addiction.

Thanks to Nightblight for being such a marvelous Beta and becoming a friend. She has enriched my writing with every chapter and pulled things out of this story I didn't even know were there.

And thanks to my "real life" friend Kim, who is not a member of the fandom, yet without her encouragement and support this experience would not have been nearly as fun or rewarding.

* * *

Brass kept his arm around Sara and his eyes on Lurie.

He kept hoping Lurie would accidentally shoot himself in a major artery and prove to Brass once and for all there was a God.

Sara had sunk back into unconsciousness. He tucked the blanket Lurie had gotten from the manager's office more securely around her and tried not to dwell on the amount of blood on the floor. He wanted her to rest; things were about to get tense. She needed whatever breather the respite from awareness would give her.

The doctor had spent the last few minutes pacing in front of his hostages, pausing occasionally to surreptitiously glance outside at the activity in the parking lot. Finally, he came to stand in front of Brass. "As far as I can tell there are no other buildings in close enough proximity to put a sniper on. They will be on the roof of this building. I anticipate they will park the vehicle far enough away from the door to draw me out into range. Are my assumptions correct?" His tone was formal and polite, as if he were confirming directions to the interstate from a stranger.

Brass shrugged, "Probably." He was surprised the doctor had put that much thought into the possible scenarios. When he had been on the phone with the negotiators, Lurie had seemed so sure that the only thing standing between him and getting away was the availability of a vehicle. So, the doctor was not so deluded that he had lost all grip on reality. Brass was not sure if he should be comforted or chagrined. But the man was smart, delusional or not.

Lurie's mouth twisted as he contemplated both the detective and his predicament.

The ringing of his phone in the quiet store seemed extraordinarily loud to both the doctor and the detective. For a moment their eyes met in a shared tension. Brass's eyebrows rose. "I'm pretty sure that's for you," he said dryly.

The physician opened the phone and resumed his restless pacing. "Yes?"

Brass watched Lurie's face as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. The doctor snapped the phone shut without further response and stalked over to the window, carefully keeping most of his body behind the large advertising poster hailing the sale price of Wild Alaskan Coho Salmon. The look on the physicians face could only be categorized as calculating.

When he spoke, his voice was flat. "The car is out there and parked far enough from the door to give a marksman on the rooftop a good shot at blowing my brains out." He turned back to where Brass and Sara were still seated on the floor; his expression briefly morphed into one of tenderness as his eyes fell on Sara but hardened again when his gaze swung to Brass. He crouched down to look the older man in the eye. "How much do you value Sara's life, Detective?"

Brass felt as if his heart was in his throat. How could he explain to this madman that Sara meant as much to him as his own daughter and like any parent he felt the value of his child's life keenly? He met Lurie's gaze with unfriendly sincerity, "More than my own."

The doctor nodded. "Good." His gaze flicked to Sara and back to the detective. "Good," he repeated. "Then, I'm going to trust you to do something for her. Trust **_me_**, if you don't do exactly as I say, if you betray me, you have betrayed her. I will kill her." He tilted his head. "I hope you know I am capable of that."

Brass remembered the body of Debbie Marlin curled over the drain of her shower, eyes open wide, with a gaping gash across her white throat. He cleared his own throat, "Yes, I know what you're capable of."

Lurie half smiled and nodded. "Good. This is what you're going to do…"

* * *

The previous ten minutes had been a maelstrom of activity that had suddenly ceased once the dark sedan had been pulled into the space between the police barricade and the front of the store and Ben Nichols had called Lurie's cell phone to let him know the vehicle was in place.

There was hardly any movement from any of the County employees behind the barricades and the only noise was the distant radio traffic from the vehicles ringing the edges of the parking lot. Even the civilians and media gathered on the farthest edge of the lot behind the county vehicles seemed to have quieted in anticipation. Every eye was trained on the front of the store and a collective tension thrummed through the air as minute after agonizing minute passed. The bright lights of the parking lot that had illuminated the activities of the night were still beating back the darkness even as the first tinges of light began showing on the eastern horizon.

Ben Nichols and his team were the only ones within the barricade, some visible, some not. Nichols himself was standing about twenty feet from the barricade in full view of the front door, clearly unarmed, hands on hips in preparation for Lurie and the hostages' exit from the store. Grissom and the other night shift CSIs stood with Vartan, Ecklie and McKeen behind the barricade, directly in front of the store

Grissom had never felt such an intense anxiety and disquiet. He knew the plan; as Lurie exited the building either the sharpshooter on the building or one of the other members of Nichols' team would shoot him. Nichols would either confirm the kill or if Lurie was still alive, make sure he was under guard. The paramedics would then move in and take care of Sara and Brass, if necessary.

But a plan could go wrong and despite his erratic behavior, the surgeon was a brilliant man. Grissom found it hard to believe Lurie would not have anticipated an ambush. There were back-up plans in place, but they were all so much more dangerous for Sara and Brass. He made a conscious effort to breath past the tension mounting in his chest; the plan had to work. It had to.

Grissom's ruminations were interrupted by movement from the store. The automatic door opened and Brass stepped out with his arms raised. He was obviously alone; fear pulsed in Grissom's throat. Where was Sara? Why was Brass out here alone? What was happening?

The detective stepped forward onto the pavement and the door closed behind him. He remained still, his arms raised and spoke across the lot. "Nichols?" Grissom felt his heart pounding rapidly; he didn't know it could beat this fast, this hard.

"Captain Brass," the SWAT leader acknowledged, "what's going on?"

"Lurie wants me to move the vehicle closer to the door. He's afraid of who might be on the roof." Brass remained in front of the store, hands in the air.

Nichols inclined his head in acknowledgement as his eyes swept over the detective. "You have blood on your pants. Are you injured?"

Grissom had been studying Brass's face so intently that he'd not noticed the streaks of dark maroon on the older man's khakis. His stomach twisted in agony; he felt his anxiety level peaking.

"Not my blood. It's Sara's," Brass's voice was rough with worry.

His eyes flicked to the barricade where Vartan and Ecklie were attempting to restrain Grissom who had made a sudden attempt to breach the barrier at Brass's words. He could hear Ecklie and Vartan, speaking to the older man; the words '_Grissom!_' and '_Stop!_' coming through loudly and repeatedly. But Grissom was not saying anything, he was simply trying to break their hold and cross the barricade.

For a moment, it looked like the younger detective and the lab's Assistant Director might lose the fight until Nick added his strength to the struggle.

Bracing himself against Grissom's chest, he threw his full weight at him. "Grissom, man, he'll kill her if he thinks he's being rushed. Stop." Nick's voice was thick with his own emotions.

Nick's words penetrated and Grissom stopped struggling and met the younger man's eyes for a moment.

"OK?" Vartan asked and Grissom nodded, looking at Brass again. The men surrounding him dropped their restraining arms but kept close in case he lost control again.

Nichols had never taken his eyes off Brass, but he had an idea of what was happening behind him. He waited until he heard the struggle stop, then addressed Brass, again. "What happens after you move the car?"

Brass shrugged. "I go back in and all three of us come back out, get in the car and we're gone. I believe the plan is for me to be the wheelman." His upraised right hand briefly touched his right ear in a movement small enough not to be detected behind the store's advertising posters.

"Is there anything we can do?" Nichols projected his voice easily across the quiet parking lot, but he merely he inclined his head to silently acknowledge Brass's signal. Everyone present observed the interaction with ferocious intensity as though they were watching some macabre performance.

The older man cut his eyes to the left side of the building and ever so slightly inclined his head in the same direction but his words negated the movements. "No, I don't think so. I think you just need to let us go."

Nichols nodded and spoke into his radio. "Rooftop, stand down. I repeat stand down. One of the hostages will be moving the vehicle closer to the building." He then motioned to one of his team members and whispered urgently in his ear. The other man nodded and trotted back towards the command center. Nichols was fairly certain Lurie's sight line was limited but he was unsure of how much he could hear from the store; the negotiator decided to play it safe and not verbally acknowledge the police captain's signals.

Nichols looked back at Brass, "All clear, Captain. You can move the vehicle; keys are in it."

Brass's face remained neutral but he let out a small sigh as he lowered his arms. Trudging to the sedan, he moved it against the curb directly in front of the store and with one last look around walked back into the store.

Grissom watched him return to the store with an overwhelming ache in his chest. He was terrified of what Lurie had already done to Sara, and very much afraid that the baby was already lost.

He needed this ordeal to over and to have Sara back safe. He would give every thing he had, everything he was, just to know that she would be all right and in his arms again.

* * *

Sara wanted to stay asleep but they wouldn't her. Someone was insistently shaking her shoulder calling her name over and over. She didn't want to, but she felt herself swimming toward awareness.

"Sara, wake up"

She felt as though she were listening to the voice through water.

"Come on, Doll, I need to see those beautiful brown eyes"

She was so tired; why wouldn't they just leave her alone?

"Sara…Wake up…"

She broke the surface of consciousness and her eyes finally opened as the voice had insisted.

A concerned, rugged face was right in front of her.

"Brass," she breathed through dry lips, her voice was sluggish and she sounded slightly confused.

"Hiya, Hon. You ready to get out of here?" His voice was gentle as he rubbed her cold hands; her body temperature seemed to have dropped. He wondered if it was from the blood loss or the drugs the twisted physician had given her.

Dumbly, she nodded.

"OK, then…" he glanced over his shoulder at the doctor and his ever present gun. He looked back at Sara "I probably could have carried you a month ago, but I don't think I can do it now." He eyed her length appraisingly, "I might be able to manage a fireman's carry…" His voice was uncertain.

"No." Lurie shook his head as he drew nearer to them.. "Your chest muscles haven't healed enough yet. You'll also have lost muscular strength from being bedridden for three weeks." He shook his head again as he briefly touched Sara's forehead. She wearily moved her head away from his hand. "You're not strong enough; you'll fall or drop her."

Brass felt the other man was probably right; he sighed, exhaustion tugging at his already tapped reserves. "OK," he looked at the woman in front of him, his gaze trying to convey a level of confidence he really wasn't feeling. "How about this? I'll help you up and you can lean on me. You think you can do that, Sara?" One thick hand stroked her cool slim one in a gesture of reassurance.

Her brow was furrowed in concentration; as if she were mentally translating a language that was not her native tongue. After a few seconds, her brow cleared and she nodded, unable to do much else.

Brass took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the nervousness quivering through his chest. He slid his right arm around her waist and wrapped his left hand around her hand and pulled her, staggeringly, to uncertain feet.

Sara moaned and leaned heavily against him. Her breaths were coming in pained gasps. "I'm so sorry," he said quickly. "Did I hurt you?"

"S'ok," she mumbled swaying slightly,

But to Brass's eyes she didn't look ok. She looked paler than before and he hadn't thought that was possible.

She whimpered, "I think…" and she doubled over, as she heaved violently on the floor.

The noise of the vomit spattering on the floor sounded unnaturally loud to Brass's ears as he continued to hold Sara up. Lurie looked on with a dispassionate stare.

"Oh, God," she groaned and she clutched one hand across her stomach. When the heaving stopped she stayed bent and tried to catch her breath against the nausea and pain in her abdomen. She felt the wetness of her blood soaked pants sticking to her uncomfortably and made a grab for the blanket that was sliding off of her shoulders, all the while trying to focus her fuzzy mind on keeping it wrapped around her.

Jim Brass wanted to look at her face to gauge how she was doing but he couldn't move without letting go of her and he was sure if he let go, she would crumple to the floor. He turned to Lurie, who gazed back impassively, gun trained on both of them. The Captain swallowed his returning ire and bent down as far as he could to accommodate Sara. "Let me know when you think you can stand up."

She only moaned again in response; but after about thirty seconds she muttered "OK" and obviously bracing herself, she allowed Brass to bring her upright again. When she was vertical, she leaned heavily against him, resting her head on his shoulder; her eyes unfocused and half closed.

He didn't want to rush her. He wasn't a doctor, but it was obvious even to his untrained eye she was not doing well. The vomiting was a bad sign and the bleeding didn't appear to have slowed. But his main concern was the way she held herself; one arm was wrapped firmly around her midriff indicating she was feeling more than a moderate amount of pain despite her disoriented state. She moaned again and a tear escaped one dark eye, rolling slowly down her cheek.

Lurie studied Sara appraisingly. "We'll all go out together, Detective. Put her in the back seat of the car and I'll follow. Then you get behind the wheel and we leave." He met Brass's eyes with a deadly serious look. "If you try **anything** out of the ordinary, Sara gets a bullet to the brain…understood?"

Brass nodded carefully. He believed the man and that made what he was about to try all that much more dangerous.

"Good." He waved the gun at them, "Let's get going." His voice was brisk and businesslike.

Brass turned his head toward the woman resting against his shoulder. "Sara? You think you can move now?"

Her eyes opened; she looked at him with cloudy resignation. "Yeah," she rasped.

"OK; I got you. Just lean on me as much as you need to. We're going to go slow so you don't get sick again," he half aimed the last over his shoulder at Lurie.

They slowly made their way to the automatic doors and through them, Lurie moving in closer behind them and placing the gun against the back of Sara's head.

The three of them moved out onto the sidewalk together, almost as a single unit.

* * *

The car Brass had moved earlier was directly off the sidewalk in front of the door, blocking their view of the people behind the barricade as well as blocking sight of them from the cops and others watching them. The night was once again eerily quiet; Brass could hear every jagged breath Sara drew in. He mentally urged her to hang on, just a few more minutes and if everything went according to plan the nightmare would be over and she would have help.

They inched forward across the sidewalk in seeming slow motion; nearly all of Sara's weight was pressing on him. He wasn't sure how she even had the strength to move her feet.

He could feel Lurie's impatience, but he didn't give a damn. She couldn't move any faster and he wasn't going to try to make her. The quiet night around them throbbed with anticipation and tension.

Brass's hand was on the handle of the backdoor when a thunderous voice ripped through the silence. "Wheelman!"

For the second time in ten hours, Brass quickly wrapped his body around Sara's and dove with her to the ground, carefully pulling her as far to the right as he could, knowing the firepower would be coming from the left. He knew the impact of the pavement had to add to Sara's pain, but he couldn't shield her from that and keep her covered at the same time.

Brass did not get to see the surprised, confused look on Vincent Lurie's face as he and Sara fell to the sidewalk. Nor did he hear the cracks of the rifles. He did feel the hot spray of Lurie's blood (and probably some of his brains) against his head and neck just before the doctor's lifeless body dropped to the ground. He didn't move from covering Sara's body with his own until Ben Nichols was shaking his shoulder questioning him with adrenaline fueled urgency, "Captain Brass? Are you hit?"

"No! No!" He looked down at Sara. Her eyes were opened but unfocused; she was hanging on to consciousness by a thread. "Get the paramedics. She needs help right away! She's been bleeding for awhile. I think he drugged her. I think she's in pain."

Then Grissom was there, pushing Nichols out of the way and gently lifting Sara's head and torso off the pavement to cradle her against his chest. "Sara! Sara, Honey?" but she didn't seem to hear his anxious voice..

The rest of the nightshift CSIs, Ecklie and the others gathered around them. Catherine grabbed Brass in a short, fierce hug and Warrick squeezed a hand to his shoulder before they turned to the two people on the ground in front of them.

Grissom pressed a kiss to her temple, calling to her, "Sara, Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

Sara's eyelids lowered slowly, then raised again just as slowly as if the movement required the utmost concentration and skill. She was still fighting the unrelenting blackness. "Gris?" Her voice was a wavering rasp.

"I'm here, Honey," he pressed a fevered kiss onto her cheek and hugged her more tightly to him.

"I'm sorry," her voice was shaky.

"Sorry?" His own voice was thick with tears.

She pressed her face into his neck. He was so warm. He was her Grissom, he was warmth and love and safety. "The baby…"

He felt her exhale a small sob against his skin and he let his own tears fall into her hair.

The sat like that a moment, before he pressed another kiss onto the top of her head, at the same time trying desperately not to think about the blood and the distant look in her eyes. "You're safe; that's what matters." He was rocking her back and forth slightly either unaware or uncaring of Brass and the others surrounding them. "I love you, Sara," he whispered against her.

The paramedics were approaching with the stretcher.

She sighed against his neck, "Love you, too, Babe," and closed her eyes.

* * *

They wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance with her. He knew that, but he had to stay with her.

The two EMTs had pushed him back to take her vital signs and he looked on dumbly as they tended her.

"It looks like she's in shock."

"Get her loaded; One, two, three…"

Grissom's eyes never left her face as they lifted her and strapped her down with automatic efficiency.

"Ready? OK, let's transport."

He began following the wheeled gurney blindly, but Warrick grabbed his arm. "We'll follow her to the hospital; get in and we'll be on their tail when they take off."

Grissom looked at him blindly, seeming not to comprehend.

Warrick's voice was gentle as he spoke again. "Gris, man, they're not going to let you ride in the ambulance with her."

Brass, who had been struggling to get some poor unfortunate EMT to understand he didn't need any fucking treatment, thank you very much, broke away from the gurney they had been trying to get him on. Unmindful of the blood on his hands and clothing, he pushed Grissom toward Warrick's Denali. "Come on, Gil, let's go."

The silence in the SUV was thick and taut. Warrick was concentrating fiercely on driving, never letting the ambulance get more than fifteen feet ahead of them. Neither Grissom or Brass chose to speak; until they knew she was going to be all right there was no point in saying anything but all three of their thoughts were with Sara. The short drive to the hospital was done at break neck speed; complete with siren and lights. Despite the fact that it took only a few minutes, it seemed interminable to all three of them.

Warrick screeched into the bay right behind the ambulance carrying Sara. "Go on; I'll find you," he assured them.

They were out of the SUV and hovering before she was even unloaded.

As she was brought down, Grissom noted the EMTs had put her on oxygen and the blood was beginning to soak through the blanket covering her. More blood. His dread grew every time he was faced with the evidence of her blood. "Sara," he rasped and started towards her haltingly.

A burly male nurse in blue scrubs placed himself between Grissom and Sara. "Sir, I'm sorry, you need to stay out of the way and let us help her," he ordered, making it clear that they were hindering the process.

Grissom wanted to argue, but Brass was already pulling him through the doors to the emergency room waiting area. "She needs a doctor, Gil. Let them help her," he said gently as he guided Grissom into one of the hard plastic chairs.

They were silent for several minutes until finally, the CSI began to surface from the stunned state he was in. "Are you OK, Brass?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he scrubbed a hand over his face, not realizing he had transferred some of the blood from his hand to his face.

"You should probably let them check you out; you're recovering from major surgery." Grissom's voice was flat and unemotional; he felt as if he was in shock, as well.

"I'll think about it once I know Sara's gonna be OK." Brass solemnly looked straight ahead.

"Did…?" Grissom swallowed painfully noting the smear of blood on Brass's face. It was **Sara's blood**. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Brass shook his head. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let her eat or drink anything. I knew…" He lowered his head into his hands.

"What?" Grissom's brow furrowed, confusion marking his tanned face.

"He gave us sandwiches and this tea…he insisted she drink the tea but she said she didn't like it. He made her drink it. I should have known what he was up to. I should have done a better job protecting her." He raised his head and his face was a picture of pained sadness.

"Jim, it's not your fault," Grissom shook his head at his friend. "Lurie wanted her to lose the baby…he was going to accomplish that no matter what he had to do. He would have forced her no matter what." He swallowed, "He would have hurt her to get her to do what he wanted. He would have killed her, if it came down to it." His voice broke. "Not your fault. Lurie's the only one to blame." He was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions; he thought it might feel a little like drowning would feel like. "I'm just grateful you were there with her and you took care of her. I can't ever thank you enough for that."

"Grissom! Is there any word?" Catherine had rounded the corner along with Warrick and Greg with Nick bringing up the rear. The others had followed them to the hospital shortly after they had left the store parking lot. Grissom expected Vartan, Ecklie, McKeen and any number of people from the lab to begin arriving as well.

"No, no word," he rubbed the back of his neck in a frustrated gesture.

Catherine hugged Brass again and he absently patted her back.

They all seated themselves, occasionally sneaking looks at Grissom, gauging his mood and reactions.

Warrick had felt the pieces of the puzzle slide into place when the night shift supervisor had to be held back from breaching the barricade after Brass had said Sara was bleeding. Everything had made sense then; his mentor's indefinable attitude during the night, Sara's pregnancy, Grissom's knowledge of the pregnancy.

Greg and Catherine had not put it together until they had heard the exchange between the couple after the ordeal was over.

Catherine had haltingly questioned Nick on the way to the hospital.

"_You knew they were together?" She turned in her seat toward the backseat looking inquiringly at him. _

_Greg, who was driving, looked at the Texan in the rear view mirror gauging his reaction to Catherine's probing, however mild._

_Nick rested his head against the back of the seat and sighed, eyes closed. "Yes." He didn't feel like facing this right now. He was still concerned about Sara, still hurting for her._

_The blonde waited for him to say more; when he didn't she continued, "She told you?"_

_Nick shook his head, "No, I found out." His eyes remained closed, his voice resigned._

"_How long have they been together?" Catherine persisted._

_Slowly, Nick raised his head and gave her a hard look. "What does it matter Catherine? Sara's life is in danger and this is what you wanna talk about?" His anger was evident._

_Catherine had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. _

"_I thought," Greg cleared his throat, still working on swallowing his anxiety, "they've always been together. Even when they weren't **together**…like even if," he shrugged as he searched for the right words, "even if they were fighting or seeing other people, they still belonged together. It's like fate, you know?"_

_They did know._

"Family of Sara Sidle?" A short, balding man wearing thick glasses, scrubs and a white lab coat called out from the doorway leading to the emergency room.

Grissom stood and the doctor made his way over to the group. "I'm Dr. Monroe. Are you Ms Sidle's husband?"

"I'm her fiancé, Gil Grissom." The two men shook hands solemnly. "How is she?"

"We've got her stabilized, but she's lost a lot of blood. The EMTs said there were suspicions she had been drugged?"

Nick pulled an evidence bag with three prescription bottles from his pocket and handed them to the doctor. "Here."

Grissom and Brass both turned to look at the younger man.

He shrugged. "They were in Lurie's coat."

It was wrong and all of them knew it; the evidence should not have been removed from the scene without going through the proper procedures. Nobody cared; Grissom even looked grateful for the lapse.

The doctor accepted the bag and cleared his throat. "So, **it was** Dr. Lurie?" He shook his head. "I don't know him well but this just seems…well, obviously…I'm sorry." He cleared his throat again as he stumbled to a halt; he looked as if he wanted to apologize for his entire profession.

"We also suspect he gave her multiple doses of Mifepristone and possibly one of Misoprostol," Grissom added.

Dr. Monroe was studying the bottles in the bag, "But there's Coumadin in here! Combining these could be…" He looked up and stopped himself. The doctor contemplated the bottles in his hand. "My first instinct is to do a D&C to stop the bleeding, but obviously I don't want to do any type of surgery if she's been given a blood thinner; we'll run her blood to see what she has in her system and do the D&C as soon as we can."

Grissom's heart clenched at the doctor's mention of the procedure. He held his hand out in a staying motion, but he was unable to fully articulate what he wanted to say. All he could manage was, "The baby?" His face was blank, but his voice betrayed his wounded heart.

A look of realization and sympathy passed over the doctor's face. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Grissom. There's just no way the fetus could remain viable with this amount of blood loss. If the Mifepristone is what caused this, it was too late to save the fetus by the time the bleeding even started. I am sorry."

Grissom had suspected as much but had told himself to hold what hope he could until there was no hope to hold to. The bleak looks on the faces of those surrounding him must have been a mirror to his own. The thick, sharp pain in the middle of his chest was his alone, though.

But Sara was alive and that was more important than anything. "Can I see her?" He asked hesitantly.

"She's in and out of consciousness, but you can sit with her until we get the blood work back."

He led Grissom to a curtained off cubicle where the lights had been dimmed. Sara, normally fair, was ghostly pale against the pillow. They had gotten her into a hospital gown and pulled a sheet half way up her torso.

"Hey, Sweetheart," he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. When she didn't respond, he brushed a wisp of hair off her cheek, his strong hand stroking her jaw as he did so.

Glancing at the monitors surrounding her, he noted her vital signs looked good and all of the machine readouts where steady. Above her there stood an IV pole with a bag of blood hanging from it; the bright red line trailing from it snaked its way into Sara's hand.

He swallowed his grief as his eyes swept over her. Their baby was gone.

He was to blame. _If _he hadn't been such a coward, _if _he had claimed her from the first moment he wanted to, their first child would probably be starting the fifth grade in the fall, not about to be discarded in a hospital biohazard waste bucket. _If_ he had had the courage to claim her and not be afraid of her leaving him, hurting him, they would probably have been married for years now. Everyone would know they belonged together. They would be a couple with a family.

When he had first met her, he knew she was meant for him. He might never be brave enough to claim her, but he knew he would never love anyone the way he was meant to love her.

He had told himself she was too young, that she needed to live before they could be together. Yes, that even meant she needed to have other relationships first before they settled into forever.

But that was the analytical scientist's thinking. When he was faced with the actual fact of her having those relationships he had rationalized she needed, he suddenly found himself to be a possessive Neanderthal and punished her for it. He'd hurt her, hated her, gave up on her and never stopped loving her the whole time. It hurt him now to know how much pain he'd caused her, how much time he had wasted trying to protect himself.

Years wasted, punishing her for his own fear of being hurt by her.

Years wasted, thinking he could stop loving her, denying that they were meant to be together.

But there was no denying that she was his love, his mate, his partner in forever and…

She was alive.

He bent and pressed another kiss to her forehead, one more to her cheek and a very soft one to her lips.

Despite the fear and the tension of the previous hours, despite the sharp and raw loss of their baby, she was alive and that was worth thanking every deity and mysterious power ever acknowledged in the universe.

He silently sent prayers of joy and thanksgiving that despite being a coward and a fool, he had this woman in his life. Whether he deserved it or not, he had one more chance.

Grissom pulled a chair up next to the bed and clasped the hand that didn't have the IV line. Reverently, he brought the back of her hand to his lips once, twice, three times and then rubbed it against his cheek.

He sat for a long while simply watching her sleep. She was pale, but she looked peaceful.

After a while, he wasn't sure how long, her eyes fluttered open. It seemed to take her a minute to get her bearings, but she looked infinitely more aware and focused than she had when they had first been reunited in the store's parking lot.

"Hospital?" she croaked.

"Yes," he nodded, his thumb stroking across the back of the hand he still held. "How do you feel?"

"Groggy," then she added, sadly, "Empty" and turned her head away from him.

"Sara," he began, but he didn't really know what to say. "Honey, look at me."

She kept her face turned from him and he was sure she was crying. He thought of forcing her to look at him, but she had been forced enough to last her a lifetime.

"Sara, Sweetheart," he thought for a moment words might fail him as they had so often in the past. "I love you," he said softly, almost whispering. "I'm not asking you to not be upset about losing the baby. I'm so sad right now, it's almost intolerable." He stroked her hair. "The only thing that makes it even remotely bearable is knowing you're here; not just alive, but here with me and we're facing it together."

She turned her head back to face him, her chocolate eyes extremely large in her pallid face, tear tracks streaking her cheeks.

"I can't comprehend a life without you, Honey. You can be as sad as you want to be and grieve as much as you need to, but you can't shut me out. We're in this together, forever."

She studied him for a moment and her lip trembled, "It's my fault."

He shook his head, "No…no, it's not."

She swallowed down a sob. "He told me he was going to get rid of the baby…I just didn't think he'd do anything while we were in there." She shuddered violently. "I think he put something in the tea…I shouldn't have eaten or drank anything…I was stupid and careless and I let him kill my baby." She was crying in earnest now.

He gathered her up as much as the IV and monitor lines would allow and held onto her, allowing her to cry against him.

When the fierce sobs had quieted to muffled sniffles, he tried again, "Sara, do you blame Brass?"

"Of course not," her voice was a mixture of horror and indignation at the suggestion.

"Well, I basically had the same conversation with him in the waiting room a little earlier. He thinks he should have done a better job protecting you or that he should have figured it out."

"That doesn't make any…" she acknowledged what she was about to say and sighed out a small hiccupping sob.

Grissom stroked his hand down her cheek. "Lurie is the only one to blame. Not you, not Brass, not me. Lurie and Lurie alone." He shook his head at her. "Sara, if he wanted you to take those drugs, you were going to take those drugs…He would have killed you to get you to do what he wanted." He felt a wicked shiver pass through him. "He almost killed you as it is." Terror rolled through him at the thought. He pressed his forehead against hers and sighed at the feel of her breath across his face. "I can endure a lot of things, Honey. But living without you is not one of them."

A slight smile lit his face as he felt her press a small kiss to his cheek before she pressed her mouth to his ear to whisper, "I love you, Gil."

"I love you, Sara," his voice was a tender caress.

The doctor came in a few minutes later saying it looked as though Lurie had not given her much of the blood thinner, just multiple doses of the Mifepristone, Vicodin and the sedative. They would be able to do the D&C, which the doctor tactfully referred to as _the procedure_, right away to stop the bleeding.

After Sara was wheeled away to the OR, Grissom plodded back out to the waiting room where the number of people waiting had grown beyond Brass and the night shift crew to include McKeen, Ecklie, Vartan, Doc Robbins and most of the lab techs.

As he approached, the group of people looked at him with wary concern on their faces, searching for some sign in his countenance of what news to expect from him. He smiled wearily, "She's going to be all right."

* * *

Sara came down the stairs into the kitchen with her white gold dragonfly necklace in her hand. It was a perfect compliment to the burgundy sweater she was wearing but she couldn't manage the clasp.

She walked up behind Grissom who was laying out food and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Something smells good;" she pressed her nose against his neck.

"Something feels good," he replied salaciously as he clasped his hands over hers and pressed himself back into her chest.

She laughed, lightly. "Down, boy. Our guests will be arriving any minute…plenty of time for that later, Dr. Grissom."

He turned in her arms and pulled her against him, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Is that a promise, Mrs. Grissom?"

"Oh, definitely," she replied in a sultry tone and she pressed her lips and body against his.

They broke the kiss after a heated moment and he grumbled, "Just whose damned bright idea was this whole party thing?" He wished they could just retire to the bedroom.

"Yours," she answered briskly. "Here" she handed him the necklace and turned so her back was to him, "Do this for me," and she gathered her hair up and away from her neck.

"I'd much rather do you," he breathed against the nape of her neck, pressing a wet kiss there.

She shivered. "Mmm…hmmm…Guests? Christmas party? Ring any bells?"

He grumbled behind her back but began fastening the necklace.

Her eyes glanced around the kitchen noting the empty playpen in the corner and the equally empty high chair by the table. "Where is Her Majesty the Princess Queen Empress of the Universe?"

"Oh," a faint flush appeared on his cheeks. "Early arrival," he jerked his head towards the living room.

She huffed, "Gilbert Grissom, you're making out with me in the kitchen without letting me know that one of our guests has arrived and has our daughter?"

A smirking look on his face, he maturely countered, "You started it."

She tried to look stern, but ended up laughing at him.

It didn't matter; he would have known she was amused by him anyway. He knew her better than he knew himself. In the eighteen months since the night at the health food store, they had only grown closer, their relationship deeper. The connection they'd always had was strengthened by the tragedy.

There had been adjustments and tears as they struggled together to recover from the events of that night and the loss of their first baby. There were tears of joy and sadness the first time they made love after that night, tears of joy at their wedding and more tears when they found out Sara was pregnant again; the memory of what Lurie had done to them marred the times that should only have held joy for them, but that pain and grief had eventually faded.

The first trimester of this pregnancy had been a dichotomy of unrestrained exhilaration and nervous apprehension. They had been scared senseless when Sara went into labor a month early but it turned out there was nothing wrong, just Ms. Jamie Brass Grissom (or Jamie B. as Greg and Warrick called her) wanting to get out into the world and see what was happening.

_Grissom had looked at her with an odd expression on his face, eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle of his forehead. "You want to give my daughter the middle name Brass?"_

_She had looked at him completely innocently, "Yeah."_

"_Honey, that's just not normal," he kissed the newborn's tiny head._

_She had given him one of her smirks and said, "Normal? You do realize we're her parents right? So, your point is?"_

_He had blinked at her. "Yeah. OK."_

Sara made her way to the door between the living room and the kitchen and eased it open. Jim Brass held the seven month old next to the Christmas tree, trying to interest her in the shining lights. She, however, was much more interested in pulling on his nose. After a few minutes, he stopped trying to interest her in the baubles and lights and began to pretend to bite at her tiny fingers, his lips covering his teeth, making "MMMM" sounds much to Jamie's glee. Very soon the living room was filled with her baby giggles.

Sara couldn't help laughing and Brass turned to her with the baby securely cuddled against his chest. "We do still have the running agreement about you not revealing any of my losses of dignity that are attributable to your daughter, right?"

Jamie Grissom had every male in her world securely wrapped around her tiniest finger, but it was hard to find any as tightly wrapped as "Grandpa Jim," with the possible exception of her doting father.

Sara pursed her lips tightly together to hold in another laugh and her eyes danced merrily as she nodded at him.

He straightened himself with as much stateliness as he could muster holding a baby who seemed intent on exploring his eye socket.

Sara's lips trembled with laughter and her voice quivered. "You, uh, want me to take her?"

One tiny hand was completely covering his left eye, but he still managed a haughty, "No, thank you, we're fine." He would not willing give the baby up for anything. He was very well aware he made an idiot of himself on a regular basis over the little girl, but he did so gladly.

"OK," she snorted back a laugh.

He cut her a mock glare and transferred Jamie to his other arm where she promptly began exploring his ear. "So, who all is going to be at this shindig?"

"The usual suspects," she answered with a shrug as she bent down to pick up a few toys from the floor and deposit them in the basket in the corner. "Oh, Nick's in town! Warrick said he'd bring him along after he made him help out at the rec center's Christmas party."

Nick had left Vegas shortly after the wedding and moved back to Dallas as a CSI in their lab. Sara had been dejected at the loss of her friend.

"_Gil, you need to talk to him! He'll stay if you ask him to," she pleaded with her husband as they snuggled in bed._

"_Sara, he's doing what is best for him; you need to respect that," he eyed her seriously._

"_You know why he's leaving." It wasn't a question._

"_I have a good idea," he stroked his large hands down her back._

_She knew if she pressed he would tell her, but if it was something she should know he would have already told her. She chewed on her lip. "Is he…" she hesitated, "Is he OK?"_

_Her husband pressed a kiss to her temple, "I believe he will be." _

_So, she let it go._

"Cath is bringing an actual date! I think her period of self-imposed celibacy is finally up. Lindsey will probably be grateful; the last time she babysat she said she and Catherine were as bonded as they were ever gonna get." She laughed. "I think she's had as much mother-daughter time as she can stand." She eyed the man in front of her, "Speaking of quality daughter time, is Ellie coming for Christmas?"

He looked at his watch then back up at her with shining eyes "Her plane arrives in four hours."

She grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Good. We'll expect both of you for Christmas dinner."

"Hey!" Grissom had entered the room silently. "You're holding one of my girls and got the other one kissing you. Is that fair?" The balance of the equation was seriously thrown off when Jamie tried to launch herself out of Brass's arms and into her father's. "I gotcha, lady bug," her father scooped her up and lifted her high in the air much to her delight.

Brass snorted. "Fickle."

"Just a Daddy's girl," Sara sighed as she rubbed a hand over her daughter's head smoothing her still fine baby hair. Jamie was her mother in miniature with the exception of big blue eyes and a dimpled chin.

Grissom slipped his arm around his wife with his daughter in his other arm. "I can't help how blessed I am."

"That's the best blessing in life," Sara said seriously. "Knowing when you **are **blessed. It took me awhile to learn that counting blessings causes them to multiply. I have my family and my friends and as long as I have those, I've always got one more chance to have a good life."


End file.
